My Decision
by UnfortunatelyWriting
Summary: The first Report after Marlee and Carter's caning, Maxon doesn't come to her room. So instead of accepting this, America goes to him. How will this decision effect the rest of their story? Will America patch up their failing relationship, or do they let it fade to nothing?
1. The Decision

I sip my tea again. King Clarkson drifts over to Celeste, and she gives him a seductive smile. It's a little disturbing. Where are her boundaries?

Kriss leans over to touch my dress. "That fabric is amazing. With your hair, you look like a sunset."

"Thank you," I say, blinking my eyes. The light has caught on her necklace, an explosion of silver on her throat, and it blinds me for a moment. "My maids are very talented."

"Absolutely. I like mine, but if I become princess, I'm stealing yours!"

She laughs, maybe meaning her words as a joke, maybe not. Either way, something about my maids hemming her clothes bothers me. I force a smile though.

"What's so funny?" Maxon asks, walking over.

"Just girl talk," Kriss flirts. She's really on it tonight. "I was trying to calm America. She's nervous about speaking to your father."

Thank you for that, Kriss.

"You don't have a thing to worry about. Be natural. You already look fantastic." Maxon gives me an easy smile. He's clearly trying to open up our lines of communication again.

"That's what I said!" Kriss exclaims. They share a quick look, and there's this feeling of them being on a team. It's strange.

"Well, I'll leave you to your girl talk. Good-bye for now." Maxon gives us both a short bow and goes over to join his mother.

Kriss sighs and watches Maxon go. "He's really something." She gives me a quick smile and goes to talk to Gavril.

I watch the elaborate dance of the room, couples coming together to speak, separating to find new partners. I'm even happy to have Elise join me in my corner, though she doesn't say much.

"Oh, ladies, the time has gotten away from us," the king calls. "We need to make our way downstairs."

I look up at the clock, and he's right. We have about ten minutes to get down to the set and prepare ourselves.

It doesn't seem to matter how I feel about being a princess, or how I feel about Maxon, or how I feel about anything. The king clearly thinks I'm so unlikely a candidate that he didn't even want to bother speaking with me. I was excluded, perhaps on purpose, and no one even noticed.

I hold it together through the Report. I even make it through dismissing my maids. But once I'm alone, I brake down.

I'm not sure how I'll explain myself when Maxon came knocking, but that ends up not mattering.

The door never opens. I can't help but wonder whose company he's enjoying instead. Maybe he's with Kriss. Or Celeste. Probably Kriss. Every time I think about how they seem to be growing closer I want to scream. She's so incredibly patronizing, its truly an art.

I think about getting changed and just going to sleep. But I know I won't get any. I know I promised I'd give him time, but I need him. I'm not going to let him slip away from me. I remember the Halloween Ball and all that went unspoken but communicated nonetheless. If he would have asked that night, I would have said yes.

Before I can change my mind, I'm walking out of my room and heading towards the forbidden third floor. As I round the corner towards the stairs, a guard passes. I press myself against the wall until he's gone and then sprint silently up the stairs, glad for the flats I had changed into after the Report. It doesn't take me long to find his room, he had described the door to me earlier and it was hard to miss. Red wood, glossed over with a finish and markings and symbols I didn't understand carved into the face.

I stare at it for a moment then gather my courage and knock. Twice. When no immediate answer comes, I don't know whether to sigh in relief or disappointment. I just turn around to go back to my room when the door opens.

"America?" My head snaps back to look at him. He's in his full suit still, although his tie is loosened slightly. I wonder if he ever lets his guard down. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't come," I whisper, now realizing how stupid it must sound. I've pushed him away all week but then expect him to come to me after the Report. I feel like crying.

His eyes widen. "I didn't think you wanted me too."

"You always come," the sob breaks thru my words and just like I've been prone to all week, I burst out in tears. Suddenly, I'm enveloped in strong arms and pressed against an even stronger chest. Why is he holding me? We're not supposed to be friends at the moment. I press closer to him. Why does he have to have such a strong chest?

"Shh, my dear, come in." I break down even further as he invites me into his sanctuary, the only part of his home that hasn't been invaded by weepy eyed girls. The door shuts behind us, the wood making a solid sound that for some reason makes me feel safe, like nothing outside that door matters in here.

He holds me until I stop crying and as I'm calming I start to notice things I hadn't really before. Like how his hands gliding up my back make me feel petite like a china doll. And how he must shave everyday in the morning and then again before dinner because I had never noticed the stubble that was now resting against my forehead. Or the way his voice is more soothing than even the sound of my violin.

"I'm sorry, America. I can't stand the thought that I'm the cause of your pain."

Another dry sob leaves my mouth and I nuzzle into his neck, his skin warm and comforting against my own. "Maxon?"

"Yes, my de-darling?" He stops himself before he can call me 'his dear.' I had let it slide earlier, too overwhelmed that he still could consider me dear anything. I smile against his shoulder.

"Why are you so good?" I murmur helplessly.

He pulls back to look at me, shocked into silence. We stand there, wrapped tightly in each others arms, light blue on chocolate brown.

"Do you remember the Halloween Ball, Maxon?" I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. He nods, his eyes sad. I want to take away that sadness, take it away and never let it come back. "You made a toast at the end of the night. Did you mean it?"

His furrowed brow lifts and his beautiful brown eyes come back to life. "With ever beat of my heart."

"Dance with me," I beg tugging on his arms to let me go.

He smiles so brightly and it reminds me of Gerald when he plays soccer back home. Maxon spins me under our arms but quickly, as if he can't bare even that much separation, pulls me back to him. Despite my begging, we're not even really dancing, just holding each other, letting our hearts heal.

"I'm so sorry, America." He says after a while.

"For what?" I ask, lifting my head off his chest.

"Marlee and Carter."

I stiffen, feeling the castle I had built fall apart around me, leaving me broken and gasping for air.

He feels me doing this and holds me tighter. "Please, America, please let me explain."

"Explain what," I snap, trying to disentangle myself from him. He doesn't let me.

"America, you have to let me explain—"

"I don't have to do anything."

"America!" He raises his voice, something he's never done to me, not really. "Sit down."

I sit, the anger I had been reaching for was shocked into submission. I watch him from his small couch, he paces, runs his fingers through his hair, curses quietly, then paces some more. I can see the turmoil plainly displayed on his handsome face. A few minutes ago I wanted nothing more than to remove his sadness and seeing him now tears me up.

"Maxon," my voice breaks but it gets his attention.

His pacing stops as his gaze falls on me. He fall to one knee in front of me and grabs my hands in his. "I don't know how to lose you, America."

"I can't be Queen." For the first time laying everything out.

"Is that your only reservation?" He sounds so broken.

"I'll never be able to stand by and watch something like that."

"Canings are rare, so rare. And even when they do happen, it won't always be like that. You'll get used to wearing a mask. You'll probably never know them again."

"I don't want to get used to it."

"But thats the only thing?" he asks again, and then I realize why.

"Its not you, Maxon," I say immediately but he looks like he doesn't believe me. "It could never be you," I insist.

"It is me, America. This is me. I know I failed you that day. I let your best friend be caned and publicly disgraced. I'd hate me too."

"I don't hate you."

He doesn't believe me and he shakes his head to refute my claim. I start to get defensive.

"I could never hate you."

"You could never hate me? Even when I'll have to sentence someone to death? Even when you force me to marry someone else? Even when I fail and the Rebels take the crown, throwing the entire country into anarchy? Even when—"

I couldn't listen to any more, not with every question worse than the one before. I interrupt him, "Even then!"

"Why!"

"Because I lo—" I cut off my own voice. Mortified at what almost came out of my mouth. "L-like you," I stammer. What the hell just happened? I didn't . . . love Maxon. . . did I?

Maxon stares at me shocked, but then his gaze intensifies and I feel as though I am sitting in front of a fire. "Thats not what you were going to say."

"Yes, it was."

"No." Maxon rises up from his knees and places his hands on the black leather couch on both sides of my lap.

"What else could I have said?" I squeak.

He smiles like a cheshire cat, his eyes mischievous. He leans forward to whispers in my ear. "We both know what you were going to say. But even so, I have ways of finding out the truth."

I shiver. "And what are those?"

"Did you know lying to the crown prince is illegal?" His lips make contact with the sensitive skin on my neck.

"Are you going to turn me in, Your Highness?"

Maxon lays open mouth kissed down my neck, breaking from the light suction to say his response. "I might just. . . punish you myself."

"You have no proof of my crime."

He scoffs. "My word is infallible, I don't need proof."

I laugh and shove him backwards by his shoulders causing him to fall back onto the floor. And then I'm running towards a door—I think his closet—but he's just able to grab me as I reach my destination.

"Where are you going?" He growls playfully. Maxon uses our new location to push me against the wall. "Tell me the truth, my lady, and I shall spare your crimes with a royal pardon."

"Like you could actually do anything about it." I taunt.

Maxon leans closer. "Tell me."

"Never."

His mouth crushes into mine, immediately searching me like I have the answers to life itself. Warmth spreads through my body and I slide my hands up his arms and across his chest to the lapels of his suit jacket. I've never felt anything like this in my life, not even some of those times I almost let Aspen take things further. This was stronger, our bond was deeper, like our bodies already knew what our minds wouldn't let our hearts feel. I need to be closer to him.

"Off," I say instead of taking a breath in between one of the kisses. I tug off his jacket but he stops me when I reach his tie and shirt.

"Tell me." He demands like its an obvious trade. Maybe it is.

I yank my mouth away. We stand there sharing breaths and he somehow finds the will to raise an eyebrow at my discontinuation of the kiss. I bite my lip. "And what if I did?"

"Did what?" His resumes his torture of my neck.

"What if I did?" I repeat anxiously.

He looks up at me with such hope and love in his eyes I want to cry again. He lightly drags the back of his fingers down my cheek and then his thumb across my swollen lips. I reach up and grab his hand, opening it and placing a kiss on his palm. "I'd make you my wife." He says plainly.

"Can I have your word on that?" My eyes are shut tightly and I firmly press my cheek into his hand, waiting for his answer.

"You can have the world." He promises.

"I don't want the world, I just want you."

"And I want you, America. Just say it."

"I. . ."

"Say the words, my darling, and I swear to you, I'll be yours till the end of my days."

I close my eyes, my heart beating faster than a hummingbird. What do I do? I search my mind for an answer as Maxon, the prince of Illea, the next ruler of my country, the future king, waits patiently for a girl to tell him if she loves him or not.

"I—" I start again but am cut off by my own erratic breathing. I'm panicking.

Maxon's hands come ups to frame my face gently. He shushes me quietly. "This isn't something to fear, America." He waits a moment for my breathing to calm, it doesn't. "What are you so afraid of?"

I'm finally able to get myself back under control. "Last time, it was so easy for him to leave. And he was just a six, you're the Prince, you still have four other girls who are infinitely better suited to be queen—"

"Even if that's true, and it's not," Maxon stresses. "I'm not here looking for a queen like I would search for an advisor, I'm looking for a wife. Yes, someone to share my thoughts with and get insight from but also someone to love. Someone to share in the joys of life. Someone to have children with. Someone hold during thunderstorms and share my bed with ever night. Someone to help me navigate the tough politics of the world but then to come back here and block everything else out with. I've craved the love and the passion of my future wife since the day I found out about my fated selection, and you are the only one I'm convinced can give that to me." He leaned forward, resting his forehead on mine. "The only one." He whispered. "Just say the words."

"Okay," my voice shook with the breaths I struggled to continue.

Maxon cuts me off before I could go into full hysteria. "You don't trust me," he sighs and I could hear the anguish in it. Maxon rested his head on mine, his eyes closed in concentration. Then he takes my hands in his. "What I'm about to show you goes to your grave. Understood?"

I nod, a little confused but also excited as he brings my fingers to the buttons on his shirt. I start undoing them and feel my eyes widen as I catch sight of that strong chest I had so admired earlier when he held me. He looks like a sculpture of a Greek god. His chest hard and clearly defined and his stomach chiseled into a perfect six pack and a sexy V teased me from beneath his belt line.

I reach out to touch him but he catches my fingers and presses a kiss to them before turning. I stood confused for a moment before caustically removing his shirt. It takes me a moment to register what I'm looking at.

Scars crisscrossed his back, some looking well healed over from years ago while others looked merely months old, still pink. "Maxon?" I ask, completely horrified. He's a prince, a ruler of the land how could this have happened to him? Who could have done this?

"I have more sympathy for Marlee and Carter than you'd think." He laughs slightly, irony lacing his voice.

I grab his shoulders and turn him to face me. I stare into his face, fear clutching at my heart. I throw my body into his, my arms wrapping around his back. I spread out my hands, using my plans to cover as much skin possible as if I could somehow turn back time and protect him from this. "W-who? H-h-how?"

His hand is gently stroking my hair as he rests his check on the top of my head. "My father."

I squeeze him tighter at this revaluation. Of course, it makes sense. Who else could have tortured the crown prince this way? But a father is supposed to love and nurture you, and yes, punish you for you mistakes but help you learn from them. Not this. Never this. This was done out of malice, not a desire to teach. My good, kind prince could never have done something to deserve such evil.

"Never again." I swear vehemently.

"I know, my darling."

At the soft resignation in his words the dams break and I cry for him. For his pain, for the absence of a father's love, for his yearning for the love of a broken five from Carolina. I run my hands up and down his back, feeling his scars and wishing I could heal them with the love he so desperately wants. The uneven skin makes my silent cry worsen and I know he can feel my tears on his chest.

"Who knows?" I ask, my voice wavering.

"No one. Only the doctor but he's very discreet."

I move my head to find his heartbeat. "How could he do this to you?"

Maxon doesn't respond and I know it's a question he must have asked himself many times. After a few minutes of silence, Maxon speaks. "You don't have to tell me anything tonight. But know you now hold my deepest secret, and I will do everything in my power to gain your trust."

I hold him close.

"We should probably get you back to your room, even if you think no one saw you, most likely someone did. I would hate to give the staff reason to gossip, or my father a reason to force me to eliminate you."

"I don't think I can let go of you," I confess, pressing my face into his chest.

His fingers comb thru my hair in a reassuring manner. "I can take you somewhere."

"I'd rather not see another human at the moment, especially if there's a chance of running into your father."

"Don't worry, I was thinking someplace where we'd be undisturbed."

"Where?"

"The library." He pulls away with a pacifying kiss to my forehead and puts back on his white shirt.

When he reaches for his suit coat, I stop him. "Leave it off."

He quirks an eyebrow, something that makes me bite my lip at the handsomeness of this man.

"I like how you look without it on. Like you trust me enough to let your guard down."

He smiles softly, his eyes bearing into mine, letting me know just how much he trusts me. And I can feel a tug in my heart, a longing to repay the favor. He offers me his arm and leads me out of the room. Yes, this trust is too precious to ever break. I will be worthy of this man, if it takes me a year.


	2. The Library

**To answer some questions: This is not a One-Shot(as you can see), I hope to write this story up to the wedding, while it will probably not hold every part of the rest of _The Elite_ and then _The One,_ it will have the big stuff as well as the consequences of changing the story in this way. Also, it will earn it's rating ;) just be patient for a few chapters. Let me know what you think in the reviews! Thanks.**

Before I know it, we have arrived before the grand doors of the library. I'm bombarded by the smell of books and a sight that can only be described as a bibliophilic dream. The room is larger than the Great Room and the ceiling reaches three floors up. There are staircases on each side of the room but unlike the ones in the rest of the palace, they are not designed to be grand, they are made to take up the least amount of space possible. They are cast iron and spiral up the three floors, reaching each balcony overlooking the center sitting area.

"Do you like it?" Maxon asks.

I walk further into the room, turning in a circle to examine every side of the library. "Its beautiful," I whisper in awe. "How come I haven't seen it before?"

He steps forward, hands behind his back, looking at the room with me. "It's used as a personal study for my family and the advisers. There's a public one on the other side of the palace, you might have seen that one, but it doesn't have near the amount of books as this. Plus the only way to get here is from the Royal Wing or the boardroom. The two most heavily guarded places other than the saferooms."

Maxon offers me his hand and leads me to the left staircase. I expect it to be creaky and rusty like the ones I have seen in the refurbished building in Carolina, but its solid and no residue comes off on my hands when I touch the railing.

"The books are organized by floor," Maxon says. "The advisors are only supposed to use the first and second floors, history and social science and then poetry and literature, respectively. The third is personal books."

We arrive on the third floor and I realize the atmosphere has changed. The first two seem professional enough, but this is comfortable. Instead of tables and chairs taking up the limited space on the balcony, there are bookcases that run the partial width of the floor forming columns and rows. The colors of the books themselves are more varied, ranging from pink to blue to black. The floor is carpeted unlike the first two which were hardwood. And there is a small couch and side table nestled in to a corner behind the bookshelves.

Maxon leads us to the couch. "I used to hide here when I was a boy. Not that people didn't know where I was, but staff aren't even allowed up here without a direct order."

"So how does this help you keep your self control, if we've just traded one hiding spot for another?"

He laughs lightly. I look around at all the books and something comes to my head. I figured this would be the best way to decide if he knows whats actually in those diaries.

"So if no one is allowed up here, how come you keep the diaries hidden away?"

He pauses. "I don't know," he looks perplexed and his brow furrows like it does when something takes a lot of consideration. "I don't know why my father wouldn't just keep them up here."

I let him think for a few more moments, but as his frown deepens, I think about interrupting his thoughts. Nice going, America, you can stop ruining tonight anytime you feel like it.

"It—" I start at the same time he says, "Have you—"

I giggle. "You go."

He nods. "Have you found anything in those books? Things my father wouldn't want out?"

I bite my lip, now not knowing what to say.

"You did?" He asks incredulously. "What did it say?"

I take a breath to gather my courage and take the plunge. "It talks about how Gregory Illea came to power."

"And?" He pushes when I don't continue.

"And its not exactly good."

Maxon looks shocked and I scold myself for ever thinking he could have known. "How far are you into it?"

"Almost halfway."

"When did you read this?"

"Right after the caning."

He swears. "You must have thought the worst of me." He looks up at me suddenly, fear etched into his features. "You did, didn't you?"

"I didn't know what to think," I say quietly.

He lets out a long breathe. "I'm just glad you came to me before doing anything rash."

"Rash?" I fake outrage, attempting to lighten the mood. "Me?"

He laughs and the tension disappears. "No, not you, my darling. You are the most rational person I've ever met."

I smile cheekily. "I know. I don't understand why Silvia thinks she has anything to teach me. I'm already a model lady."

Instead of replying Maxon kisses me. I sigh happily and return it, but ultimately push him away. "You, Sir, are not good at staying away."

"Is there a reason I should?"

I roll my eyes, "You're impossible."

I sit down on the couch, picking up a thin leather-bound book. "What is this?"

Maxon lays on his back, resting his head in my lap, as I open the cover. The title page reads _Poetry of the Nineteenth Century_. Before I can start to read the first poem, Maxon begins to recite, "Lord Byron, 1813."

He looks up at me, his blonde hair drastically contrasted by the reds of my dress.

 _"She walks in beauty, like the night_

 _Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_

 _And all that's best of dark and bright_

 _Meet in her aspect and her eyes:_

 _Thus mellow'd to that tender light_

 _Which heaven to gaudy day denies."_

Maxon never looks away from my face, as if he was a student examining a new found philosophy that suddenly answered all their questions, as if looking at me now, made the poem adopt a new more profound meaning. My heart beats rapidly in my chest but I hear each word clearly, like my heart already knows what he means to say.

 _"One shade the more, one ray the less,_

 _Had half impaired the nameless grace_

 _Which waves in every raven tress,_

 _Or softly lightens o'er her face;_

 _Where thoughts serenely sweet express_

 _How pure, how dear their dwelling-place."_

Maxon reaches up and traces the features he had been so carefully studying. I press a kiss to his wrist as his fingers tuck my hair behind my ear. I think I finally understand why poetry is so romantic. The way the words float off his lips, rehearsed, but sincere; a slow, composed delivery; and Maxon's voice, strong and sure, speaking the language of hearts. He finishes the poem with a small smile and a look that makes me melt. Yes, I think, poetry will definitely be explored more closely in the future.

I bring his head up off my lap to give him a chaste kiss. "Tell me, sir, why do you have a love poem memorized? Is there any past lovers I should be worried about? I would hate to be viciously attacked some day while meeting foreign dignitaries."

His eyes crinkle in amusement as he tries to keep a straight face. "Some number, I suppose. I have quite the reputation among the royal families."

"I knew it all along." I reply indignantly, smiling so he knows I'm teasing.

"You must be the only girl in the country then. Most believe I am the utmost example of a gentleman."

"I must warn them be careful not to go on walks alone with you during the next Report. There's no telling what ideas you may get once you send the camera crews away."

Maxon sits up quickly. "Then I will simply have to give my own warning. Once I am done, no man, if he believes himself to ever want children, shall dare go on a private walk with you again."

"Again? As in after the Report? Does this mean men are free to take me on walks now?"

"If a man is stupid enough to lay a hand on you, I'll be doing the world justice by removing his limbs from his body." His face is dead serious and I can't help the flutter in my stomach at Maxon's obvious possessiveness. But then I think of Aspen and those butterflies plummet, tossing and turning my stomach like a jar of beads given to a baby. Although we are teasing, I know there's always a hint of truth in everything someone says. Where I doubt Maxon will rip Aspen's arms off, I know he wouldn't—couldn't turn a blind eye if we were caught. Maxon just shared with me the biggest secret of his life, something that could ruin his father, his family and his actual reputation, and I'm cheating on him. _Shit_.

"America?" Maxon's concerned voice breaks thru my trance. I shake myself out of my thoughts. I can't do anything about it now. I'll talk to Aspen tomorrow, and Maxon, well, after that. Sometime.

"Sorry," I start. "Tonight's been. . ."

"Amazing," Maxon finishes, but his eyes are cautious. I hate that they're cautious again. He's right, tonight's been amazing, he's been amazing. How can someone like Maxon ever think it right to have to ask or even seek the love of someone so below him?

I nod in agreement and pull him close. I'm shaking and I know he feels it as he gently shushes me like he did when I was crying. "It's just a lot." I know he doesn't understand, but he doesn't have to. That's something I love about him.

Love _about_ him, not love him.

Maxon turns me in his arms and holds me under his chin whole he lets me calm down. Soon I'm able to take full advantage of the stalwart body holding mine as I relax fully into him. I can feel him smile at this even if its just an instinct, but somehow, I seem to be growing increasingly aware of him and his mannerisms.

When I make no move to speak, Maxon picks up the book and begins to read the next poem, his voice a steady whisper in my ear. I bury my face in his neck so with every breath I take, my senses are overwhelmed by his scent and warmth. I feel myself start to drift away from the couch and the books and the only thing that remains is the shoulder I'm resting on. I've never fallen asleep with someone still talking, and if I wasn't so exhausted from my ample and plentiful emotions today, I'd take more notice of it. But all in all I find it quite nice. His voice, that had just moments ago seemed so clear, now seemed as if he was underwater; every word seeming both jarring and too far away to respond to. By the time I couldn't stay awake any longer, my eyelids felt as if they had a ton of gold weighing on each and my arms and legs felt like I had just run a marathon. Some where in my subconscious I know I should have Maxon take me back to my room, but that knowledge is against every desire in my body, including the most natural one: sleep.


	3. The Morning After

"America! America, wake up!" I jolt awake as I'm being thrown off a lap and onto the couch below. I stare up in confusion as I bounce on the cushions, blinking my eyes as they sting from the light. "Damn, damn, damn. America, get up; its a half past seven, breakfast is in thirty minutes!"

"What?" I say with a yawn. Why was he yelling?

"America!" Maxon grabs my shoulders and shakes me hard. "You need to go get dressed for breakfast."

"Okay," I start to sit up but fall back down to the soft, comfortable pillows. "Five more minutes."

"America!"

My eyes pop open, his words finally registering. "Oh God! We stayed here all night!"

Maxon rolls his eyes in irritation and grabs my arm, pulling me up and then to the stairs.

"How did this happen?" I ask as we sprint out of the library.

"I must have fallen asleep watching you," he mumbles and then turns a little red as he realizes what he just said.

I laugh despite of our circumstances, "How very scandalist, your highness."

"America, don't you understand," Maxon grabs my arm and drags me into a nearby closet. "Rumors could already be spreading. Neither of us slept in our rooms last night and we could have easily been seen together."

In a moment we are back in the hall, him nearly at full speed, me being jerked behind him.

"But we didn't—"

"Do you have proof?" Maxon demands. At first I'm taken back by his harshness, but then I realize he's probably scared for my life.

"I'm still a . . . And there are ways to test that. If it comes to that. . ."

Maxon finally stops. "I won't put you thru that humiliation. America, until we find out the full extent of these rumors and how to quell them, I think it would be best not to be together for a while."

"Maxon," I protest, betrayal clear in my voice. "No, I won't, I can't."

"Please, my darling, I'll work this out as soon as I can." Maxon traces his finger tips over my cheekbones.

Before I can respond, the door I didn't realize we were standing by opens and the unwelcome interruption gasps. We turn to see Lucy standing there. "My lady, thank goodness! Anne! Anne, I found her!"

I start to go in, when I'm stopped by a gentle hand on my wrist. Irritated with what I believe is a complete overreaction, I don't turn around, but I don't pull away either. When he's sure I won't protest, he guides me around and into his arms like a dance and presses his lips to mine. His soft lips and chaste kiss heal the breech between us before it can form. "As soon as I can," Maxon promises again and I nod.

I pull out of his arms and hurry into my room.

The second the door closes behind me my maids are in a flurry, leading me to my vanity to wash and replace yesterday's makeup, handing me my toothbrush as they combed and quickly braided my hair, having all three of them change me into my day dress. The dress is new and truly beautiful and I wish I had more time to admire it as Lucy slips these small diamond pins into the intricate braid flowing over my shoulder.

Although my maids work diligently, I can feel the tension and the unasked questions in the air. Finally I can't take it any longer. "I didn't sleep with him," I blurt. "Well, I mean, we did sleep together, but not in, you know, that, um, way."

"You don't need to worry about gossip from us, My Lady," Anne reassures. "And you don't need to justify anything to us."

I let out a frustrated groan. "Anne, really, we went to the library last night and just fell asleep."

Anne just hums, pining small barrettes into the pleats in my hair. "If you don't believe me, I don't know what I'll do if the King suspects something."

"You were out with the prince all night," Anne starts. "And he has shone quite an obvious partiality towards you. But I do believe that he and his intentions are an honorable pair."

I look at her through the mirror and give her a grateful smile. She returns it with a hint of mischief in her eye.

"On the other hand he is a very handsome man and he very well might have given in to very human temptations last night, and if that _is_ the case than I would suspect, since there has been no such rumor in all this time the Selection has been in progress, that we will very soon have a new princess. And it would be my duty, as a citizen of Illea, to enlighten others to this fact, if there is, in fact, rumors."

I smile for the first time this morning as I see Lucy and Mary nod in agreement.

"Now, hurry. Breakfast starts in a few minutes," Anne hands me another pair of flats.

I get to the dining hall just as the small bell goes off, letting the servers know it's time to bring out the food. I take a seat to the right of Kriss, who immediately raises her napkin over her mouth to cover her words, "you're late."

"Not quite," I correct, then thank the server who is filling up my glass with my normal egg and pancake drink: orange juice.

"Any idea where he is," Celeste hisses from her seat across the table, inclining her head to Maxon's usual place beside his father.

I do my best to shrug nonchalantly, "Everyone has late days."

I hear someone scoff and I know the rumors have spread thru the girls.

"I can't believe you, America," Kriss whispers, harsh accusation dripping with each word.

"What can't you believe, Kriss? That I was late?"

"I never expected you could do something like this. It's below even Celeste."

"Sorry I'm late," A welcome voice interrupts my response. "Mother, Father, Ladies," he bows to each of us in turn before taking his seat.

Celeste turns her head to watch him, as if recalculating her next move; Natalie studies her plate while Elise eyes him with curiosity, but it's Kriss' reaction that make me feel guilty. She looks up at him with thinly veiled but complete devastation and I'm able to briefly put myself in her shoes. She believes that the man she wants to marry just slept with someone else. I would be crushed too.

I decide to adopt Natalie's mantra and keep my head down, not once do I feel his gaze fall on me.

After breakfast, we are gathered in the Women's Room to wait for Silvia. My stomach twists as the door closes behind Celeste, Silvia can't come soon enough.

"So this is how you convince Maxon to keep you here. You open your legs whenever he calls and you send home the Selection Compensation. You're not just a slut, you're the worlds greatest prostitute."

"I didn't sleep with him."

"Stop lying, America. No one believes you," Kriss says.

"I do."

All three of us turn to look at Elise, who is standing a few feet away from us with a calm look on her face.

"What?" Celeste cries with an anger that would make a grown man flinch.

But Elise simply shrugs and says, "Maxon hasn't kissed me once, and from what I have heard, even from the more theatric girls, he has been nothing but appropriate when he has kissed one of us. It doesn't make sense that he would take that kind of risk now. Intercourse is an act of man and wife, if Maxon wanted America to be his wife, all he has to do is ask."

No one speaks are Elise seems to take a breath. I haven't spent that much time with her, but she's always had my respect. And now she has my gratitude, even if the use of such a blatant name for the most forbidden act made me cringe a little inside. I'd always liked the term 'making love' the most, but since it seems like something May would say, I've never admitted it to anyone.

"The fact that we all are still here," Elise continues, "just proves the fact that last night was just a rumor."

"Rumor or not, I can't wait till the King hears about this. Don't worry, I'm sure he won't do anything too drastic." Her mouth twists into a cruel smile. "But then, we've already seen what he did to the last whore he had found."

Anger pulses through my veins at the mention of Marlee. Somewhere in the back of my head I know she's just trying to get me rallied. That she's angry and wants to manipulate me into doing something that will get me in trouble, but I can't find it in me to care. This is the second time she's brought up Marlee, and it will be her last even if I have to rip out her tongue to make sure of it.

Just as I'm about to jump, Silvia comes into the room.

"Ladies!" Silvia exclaims, shocked at the tension in the room. "Control yourselves," she snaps.

Celeste and I slowly turn away from each other, neither trusting the other not to attack when their back was turned.

Silvia sends us a chastised look before taking a deep breath and starting in her usual cheery voice, "I know you usually wait for guests on Saturdays, but toady I have a special assignment for you all."

"As you know, the queen is usually in charge of receiving important guests. You all saw how graciously she hosted our friends from Swendway. However, the visitors we have coming from the German Federation and Italy are even more important than the Swendish royal family. And we thought this visit would be an excellent exercise for you all, especially since we've been so focuses on diplomacy lately. You will work in teams to prepare a reception for your respective guests, including a meal, entertainment, and gifts," Silvia explains.

I gulp down the lump in my throat as she continues.

"It is very important for us to maintain the relationship we have as well as to forge new ones with other countries, these guests, as well as guides for what's typically frowned upon when hosting events for them. However, the actual execution is in your hands."

"The queen and I want to make this as fair as possible and I think we've done a good job of putting you all on the same field. Ladies Celeste, Natalie, and Elise, you will be organizing one reception. Lady Kriss and Lady America, you will be organizing the other. And since you have one less person, you will have one more day. Our visitors from the German Federation will be coming on Wednesday, and we'll be receiving guests from Italy on Thurday."

There is a short moment of silence as we all take that in.

"You mean we have four days?" Celeste screeches.

"Yes," Silvia says. "But a queen has to do this work alone and sometimes with far less notice."

The panic is palpable, the fight with Celeste the furthest thing from my mind now.

"Can we have our papers, please?" Kriss askes, holding out her hand. Instinctively, I put mine out as well. Within seconds we are devouring the pages.

"This is going to be tough," Kriss sighs. "Even with the extra day."

"Don't worry," I assure her. "We're going to win."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Beacuse," I say defensively. "There's no way I'm letting Celeste do better than me."

Despite everything that has happened this morning, Kriss laughs. Maybe Elise convinced her or maybe she is thankful to have a straw to grasp onto, but she doesn't seem like she hates me anymore. Which is good. This would be a whole lot harder if we were harboring a grudge for each other.

And I meant what I told her. We will win this.


	4. The Rebels

The piercing scream of a siren jerks me from my sleep. The sound is so foreign, I can't even begin to process what it is. All I know is that my heart's pounding in my chest from the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Before a second had passed, the door to my room flies open and a guard runs in.

"Huh?" I say groggily as he races over to me.

"Get up, Mer!" he urges, and I do as he said. "Where are your damn shoes?"

Shoes. So I'm going somewhere. Only then did the sound make sense to me. Maxon had told me once before that there was an alarm for when the rebels came, but it had been thoroughly dismantled in a recent attack. It finally must have been repaired.

"Here," I say, finding and slipping my feet into them. "I need my robe." I point to the end of the bed, and Aspen grabs it, trying to open it for me. "Don't bother, I'll carry it."

"You need to hurry," he says. "I don't know how close they are."

I nod, heading for the door, Aspen's hand on my back. Before I hit the hallway, he jerks me toward him. I find myself in a deep, rough kiss. Aspen's hand is behind my head, holding my lips to his for one long moment.

I freeze, this isn't supposed to be happening, I wasn't supposed to see him again until I figured out what to say to him. I'm not supposed to be kissing him. This is wrong. My entire body screams at me to stop and my heart aches as I go against my vow to never hurt Maxon again.

Even while I try to move my uncooperative body, I can't deny the knowledge I possess about Aspen. I can feel the urgency in his touch. Something might go wrong, and this could be the last time I ever saw him. He wanted to make it count. So I let him, because I will always love him and I can't break his heart right before he goes into battle.

We step apart, barely taking a second to look at each other one more time. He puts his hand around my arm and pushes me out the door. "Go. Now."

I dash for the secret passage hidden at the end of the hall. Before I push the wall, I look behind me and catch sight of Aspen's back as he runs around the corner. Tomorrow, we'd need to talk tomorrow.

As quickly as I can manage, I make my way down the steep, dark stairs to the safe room reserved for the royal family.

Maxon had told me once that there were two kinds of rebels: Northern and Southern. The Northern ones were pesky, but the Southern ones were deadly. I hope whatever I'm running from is more interested in disturbing us than in killing.

As I descend the stairs, the cold set in. I want to throw on my robe, but I worry I might trip. I feel steadier as the light of the safe room comes into view. I leap from the last step, and I can see a figure standing out among the shapes of the guards. Maxon. Though it's late, he was still in his suit pants and his shirt, slightly rumpled but presentable. Always presentable, I smirk internally.

"Am I the last?" I ask, pulling on my robe as I approach.

"No," he answers, avoiding eye contact. "Kriss is still out there. So is Elise." I know he is trying to dispel any rumors, but it still hurts.

I look behind me at the darkened corridor that seems to go on forever. In either direction, I could make out the skeletons of three or four stairways stemming from their secret origins in the palace above. They were empty.

If anything Maxon had told me was true, his feelings for Kriss and Elise were limited. But there was no mistaking the concern for them in his eyes. He rubbed his temple and craned his neck, as if that would really help in the dark. We looked past each other, watching the stairs as guards milled around the door, clearly anxious to close it.

Suddenly he sighs and puts his hands on his hips. Then, with no warning at all, he embraces me. I can't help but clutch him to my chest, remembering last night's peace.

"I know you're still probably upset, and that's fine. But I'm happy you're safe."

"I'm glad you're safe, too," I whisper, trying not to rub my nose into his neck.

He holds me tighter. "I spoke to my father earlier."

"And?" I ask, nervous but hopeful.

"I explained to him that nothing happened." His voice is tight, and I know him well enough to know that's not the whole truth.

"Did he understand?"

He's quiet for a moment and my heart bangs around in my chest. My mind flashes through the worst case scenarios. Elimination. Humiliation. Incarceration.

"No." I stop breathing. "But Mother helped. She said a similar rumor was spread during her selection."

"What happened to the girl?"

"She was sent home."

I gasp, pulling out of his arms to look him in the face. "No! Maxon, you can't—"

"America, calm, my darling." Maxon interrupts. "That is not the comparison I was making. I merely meant that rumors are not uncommon. My father's only condition is that we wait until the talk ceases to continue our blatant regard."

"Oh," I say, my heart rate returning to normal. "Good."

Suddenly he gasps. "Elise."

I turn to see her thin figure coming down the stairs. Where's Kriss?

"You should go inside," Maxon gently urges. "Silvia is waiting."

"We'll talk soon."

He gives me a small, hopeful smile and nods. I head into the room, with Elise following right behind. As she walks in, I notice she's crying. I put an arm around her shoulder, and she does the same to me, happy to have the company.

"Where were you?" I ask.

"I think my maid is sick. She was a little slow to help me. And then I was so frightened by the alarm, I got confused for a moment and couldn't remember where to go. I pushed on four different walls before I found the right one." Elise shakes her head at her forgetfulness.

"Don't worry," I say, hugging her. "You're safe now."

She nods her head to herself, trying to slow her breathing. Of the five of us, she was easily the most delicate.

As we go deeper, I see the king and queen sitting close together, both of them in robes and slippers. The king has a small stack of papers on his lap, as if he is going to use the time down here to work. The queen has a maid massaging one of her hands, and they both wear serious expressions.

"What, no company this time?" Silvia jokes, drawing our attention to her.

"They weren't with me," I say, suddenly worried about the safety of my maids.

She smiles gently. "I'm sure they're fine. This way."

We follow her to a row of cots set up against an uneven wall. The last time I was in this place, it was clear that the people who maintained the room weren't prepared for the chaos of all the Selected girls down here. They'd made progress since then, but it isn't completely up-to-date. There are six beds.

Celeste is curled up on the one closest to the king and queen, though we are still quite a ways from them. Natalie has settled in next to her and is braiding thin pieces of her own hair.

"I expect you to sleep. You all have a serious week ahead of you, and I can't have you planning if you're deliriously tired." Silvia walks away, probably to look for Kriss.

Elise and I both sigh. I can't believe they were going to make us go through with the whole reception thing. Wasn't this stressful enough? We let go of each other and make our way to neighboring cots. Elise is quick to tuck herself into the blankets, obviously worn out.

She rolls over, and it looks like she was asleep within seconds. I know it's true when she doesn't turn over at the bustle of noise coming from the door. I glance back and see Maxon carrying Kriss into the safe room, with Silvia close by. Immediately after she's through, the door's sealed shut.

"I tripped," she explains to Silvia, who's fretting over her. "I don't think I broke my ankle, but it really hurts."

"There are bandages in the back. We can at least wrap it," Maxon instructs. Silvia walks away quickly, passing us as she goes hunting for bandages.

"Sleep! Now!" she orders.

I sigh, and I'm the only one. Natalie takes it in stride, but Celeste seems very irritated. I check myself then. If my behavior's anything like hers, it needs to change. Though I don't want to, I crawl into my cot and face the wall.

I try not to think about Aspen fighting upstairs, or my maids maybe not making it to their hiding place fast enough. I try not to worry about the upcoming week, or the possibility of the rebels being Southern and trying to slaughter people above us as we rest. I try not to think about Kriss and Maxon, sitting in the glow of one of the few lanterns, his hands on her leg. I try not to think about how he carried her in here. I try not to think about how selfish I'm being.

But I do think about all of that. And it's so exhausting, I eventually find sleep on my cold, hard cot.

I don't know what time it was when I wake up, but it must have been hours since we've come to the safe room. I roll over, looking at Elise. She's sleeping peacefully. The king's reading his papers, whipping them through his hands so quickly, he appears to be mad at them. The queen's head rests on the back of her chair. She looks even more beautiful when she sleeps.

Natalie's still asleep, or at least she looks that way. But Celeste's awake, propped up on one arm and looking across the room. Her eyes hold a fire that she usually reserves for me. I follow her gaze over to the opposite wall, where she's watching Kriss and Maxon.

They sit side by side, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. Kriss has her legs curled to her chest, looking as if she's trying to keep warm, even though she's wearing a robe. Her left ankle is wrapped in gauze and doesn't appear to be bothering her at the moment. They're speaking quietly with smiles on their faces.

I don't want to watch, so I roll back over.

By the time Silvia taps me on my shoulder to wake me, Maxon's already gone. So is Kriss.

As I emerged from the stairwell that had ushered me to safety the night before, it was all too apparent that the Southerners had been here. In the short hallway that led to my room, there was a pile of debris that I had to climb over to get to my door.


	5. The Closet Part 1

Typically, the worst of the mess was gone by the time we were released from the safe room. This time, however, it looked like there had been too much for the staff to get to, and we would have been down there all day. Still, I wished they'd tried a little harder. I spied a group of maids working to scrub away giant letters on a far wall.

WE'RE COMING

The line's repeated down the hall, sometimes written in mud, other times in paint; and one appears to be done in blood. Chills run through me, and I wonder what that meant.

As I stand there, my maids dash up to me. "Miss, are you all right?" Anne asks.

I'm startled by their sudden appearance. "Um, yes. Fine." I look back to the words on the wall.

"Come away, miss. We'll get you ready," Mary insists.

I follow obediently, slightly stunned from everything I saw and too confused to do anything else. They work deliberately, the way they do when they try to soothe me with the routine of getting dressed. Something about their steady hands—even Lucy's—is calming.

By the time I'm ready, a maid comes to escort me outside, where we would apparently be working this morning. The smashed glass and chilling graffiti were easy to forget about in the Angeles sun. Even Maxon and the king are standing at a table with advisers, reviewing piles of documents and making decisions.

Under a tent, the queen reads over papers, pointing out details to a nearby maid. Near her, Elise, Celeste, and Natalie sit at a table discussing plans for their reception. They're so engrossed, it looks like they've completely forgotten the rough night.

Kriss and I sit on the opposite side of the lawn, under a similar tent, but our work is going slowly. I'm having a hard time talking to her as I fight to get the image of her sharing a moment with Maxon out of my head. I watch as she underlines sections in the papers Silvia gave us and scribbles notes in the margin.

"I think I might have figured out how to do our flowers," she comments without looking up.

"Oh. Good."

I let my eyes wander over to Maxon. He's trying to look busier than he is. Anyone really watching can see how the king pretends not to hear his comments. I don't understand that. If the king is worried about Maxon being a good leader, the thing to do would be to truly instruct him, not keep him from doing anything because he worried his son will make a mistake.

Maxon shuffles some papers and looks up. He catches my eye and waves. As I go to raise my hand, I see Kriss enthusiastically wave back from the corner of my eye. I focus on the papers again, fighting a jealous glare at the girl next to me.

"Isn't he handsome?" Kriss asks.

"Sure."

"I keep imagining how children would look with his hair and my eyes."

Fury boils under my skin and I have to bite my tongue to keep from lashing out. "How's your ankle?"

"Oh," she says with a sigh. "It hurts a little, but Doctor Ashlar says I'll be fine by the reception."

"That's good," I say, finally looking up at her. "Wouldn't want you hobbling around when the Italians come." I'm trying my best to sound friendly, but I can tell she's questioning my tone.

She opens her mouth to speak but then quickly looks away. I follow her gaze and see that Maxon's heading over to the refreshment table the butlers have set up for us.

"I'll be right back," she excuses herself quickly, and limps toward Maxon faster than I would have thought possible.

I can't help but watch. Celeste has walked over, too, and they're all talking quietly as they pour water or grab finger sandwiches. Celeste says something, and Maxon laughs. It looks like Kriss is smiling, but she's clearly too bothered by Celeste interrupting her time to be genuinely amused.

I'm almost grateful for Celeste at that moment. She might be a hundred things that irritate me, but she's also impossible to intimidate. I could use some of that.

Over Kriss' shoulder, Maxon catches my eye. He smiles and jerks his head in invitation, but when I don't move, his face falls a little. I raise my hand and quickly pull my right ear. He frowns but nods.

By this time, Kriss has noticed that she no longer holds his attention and turns fully around to look at me. I refuse to back down and instead of looking away like I had been caught, I stand and make my way over to the table.

Maxon looks surprised by my change of heart but also a little amused as he watches me saunter up to him. "My Lady," he greets as I reach the party of three.

"Your Highness," I drop into a small curtsy. "How is your morning?" I ask, pleasantly.

"As well as can be expected. I hope yours has been similar?"

"Yes," I say. "But I'm afraid last night did take its toll, everyone is feeling a bit tired this morning."

Kriss cuts in before Maxon can respond. "Oh, America, you should have told me you weren't feeling well. I am more than happy to continue to work if you would like to get checked up in the Med Hall. The planning really isn't all that hard, just small details. I should have known you weren't feeling your best, you've been struggling all morning with the same packet."

Maxon raises an eyebrow at the obvious attack thinly hid behind the worry. I'm seconds away from blowing when Maxon speaks again.

"If you're feeling unwell, my lady, I would be happy to escort you."

Kriss freezes and then a frown crosses her face before she hides it. "Maxon that's so sweet of you, but I'm sure America is fine."

"No," I say quickly. "You're right, Kriss, I have been working slow all morning. I'm sure it won't make too much a difference if I bow out for an hour or two. Until I recover from such a taxing night."

Celeste lets out a single laugh. "Yeah, Kriss. Maxon is too generous to let any girl be by herself after an injury. I'm sure you know that, especially after last night." Celeste isn't helping me, she's merely using this to taunt Kriss. Insinuating that last night was nothing more than obligation sure knocks the girl off her self appointed pedestal. I almost feel bad.

Maxon offers his arm and I take it. As we walk towards the doors, Maxon leans his head down to whisper, "Nicely played, America."

"Can you believe her?" I seethe.

Maxon laughs, "I never expected that from Kriss, she seemed so nice last night."

"I'm sure she did," I roll my eyes. "You impressed her very much, as well."

"Really? What did she say?"

I glare at him. "Why?"

"Just keeping my options open." He gives an 'umpf' as I hit his arm.

Maxon retaliates by squeezing my side as we pass under the archway of the doors. Once we are out of sight, Maxon suddenly stops. I look up to ask what's wrong but then his hands frame my face and his lips are on mine. It has only been a day since Maxon said goodbye to me outside my room, but it feels like forever. Especially having to sit next to another girl dreaming about what his children will look like.

The thought of Kriss' earlier statement has me pulling him into the supply closest we were standing by. As the door shuts behind us, I grab his tie and yank his mouth towards mine again.

"You don't know how hard this is!" I complain, breaking the eagerness of the kiss with a punishing bite.

"What, my dear?"

I glare at him, but am more frustrated at Kriss at the moment. "Having to share you like this."

He closed the gap and gave me a sensual kiss. "I don't think this is sharing, America."

The taste of his lips distracts me and a part of me agrees, but then, "Kriss was talking about having your children! She was sitting there, dreaming about you, right next to me!"

"America, calm down. It doesn't matter, that will never happen."

"But she—"

"Is just a girl. You're the one I want. The one that matters."

"But—"

"America," he laughs. "I'm not the one who's unsure of this."

I start to respond but stop short. I am unsure, aren't I? But hadn't I already chose? Hadn't I already rejected Aspen in my heart? "But I'm not."

Maxon smiles radiantly. "Good."

Then he's suddenly against me, pressing me into the wall. I can feel the return of that warmth that had occurred last night, except this time it grows faster. Maxon's hands are everywhere at once: at the small of my back, pulling me closer, moving up and down my sides, gliding over my shoulders, on the wall by my head. The prince's suit covered thigh finds its way in between my own and I'm rendered paralyzed when his knee presses against the part of me that is throbbing.

The kiss feels hotter. His body feels warmer. The air itself seems to be electrically charged around us. My hands find their way into his hair where they tangle in the soft strands. Maxon's kiss moves across my jaw line to the sensitive spot behind my ear. I mewl at the sensation.

A quiet chuckled resounds in my ear. "Only you, America," Maxon whispers gruffly before pressed a quick kiss to my lobe.

The palm of his hand rests on my clavicle as his fingers wrap around the base of my neck. His other arm slides behind me and yanks my forward, causing my back to arch and my neck to expose itself to his small nips and tongue. The possessiveness of his hand alone sends the primeval side of my body into hyperdrive.

I release one death grip on his hair to drag my hand down his chest, needing to feel his strength again as if I had forgotten.

The old but insistent throbbing coming from my core drives me to grind down onto the leg that is helping support me. Maxon growls as he realizes what I'm doing.

Maxon steadies me against the wall, before lifting me away from it. He turns us to the right and then I hear the sound of things crashing as he clears off a maids card and places me on it. Giving my throat one last kiss, he pulls away from me just enough to see his task complete. Maxon's long fingers find my ankle and his hand slowly slides up my leg, barring my skin to him in the process. His eyes watch with rapt attention as the fabric pools around my hips.

"So smooth," he whispers, dragging the back of his hands over the inside of my thighs.

"Maxon," I moan, the look in his eyes adding to the fire already inside me. I grab his hand from where it lays on my leg and slowly leads it towards my center. Unsure of what I want him to do, but sure I want him to do something, I press up into his hand.

"America, we sh—"

"Don't stop!" I panic. "Please, don't stop."

He looks into my eyes and nods once, seeing the desperation in them. His gaze falls to his hand as he slides the blue satin to the side, revealing me to him like a forbidden fruit. His finger meets the wetness of my arousal and is instantly searching, exploring, and mapping my most secret parts.

"Where does it feel good?"

I shake my head, unable to even think with this new feeling. Maxon's finger brushes over a small point and my body tightens automatically. He smiles and moves his finger over that spot again. I bite my lip as he starts a gentle circular motion over it, making my toes curl.

"Maxon!" I gasp as I feel something building inside of me.

I look into his eyes and can see the desire, the love in them. He's about to say something when shouting outside in the hall interrupt him. Panic seizes my chest as my body goes cold. Maxon gently places me on my feet and sweeps me behind him as he turns himself to face the door, poised ready for whatever threat might come barreling thru. I grab his arm, pulling myself up behind him to where I could see, but also hide quickly if need be.

Maxon goes to open the door when the rebel attack bell sounds. He peeks out the door only to slam it shut. I didn't need to ask what he saw, I could tell by the panicked look on his face. They were in the castle. Again.


	6. The Closet Part 2

"We need to make it to a safe room," Maxon mumbles, as if thinking out loud. I nod, trusting him. But even before I start to consider moving, gun shots ring out in the hallway. In a moment I'm pulled against Maxon and pushed back up against the wall, only this time, I'm shaking for different reasons.

"Don't make a sound," he commands in a low voice, his eyes trained on the door. More scuffling rushes past the door and Maxon seems to come to the conclusion that there's no getting out that way. His body grows more tense and he tightens the nonexistent gap between our bodies, as if that would protect me from anything that could come through the door.

A high pitched scream reaches us and I cringe, terror welling up in me at the thought that these might be Southerners. I fist his shirt into a ball, realizing now that his coat must have been thrown off again in our passion. "Maxon," my voice hides none of the fear coursing through my body.

Maxon glances back at the door, shushing me soothingly. "They have no reason to check in here. We'll be fine."

I shake my head and breathing becomes harder. "What–"

Maxon pulls back to cradle my face, cutting me off. "Do you trust me, America?"

I look into his eyes and nod. The devotion showing in his soft brown eyes confirms that he would rather die than let me get hurt.

"Then let's hide, and then we can wait this out."

I nod again, unable to stop shaking enough to trust my voice. Suddenly I realize just how dark it is in the room. Maxon moves as quietly as possible, silently pushing the carts and boxes away from the back corner just enough so that his shoulders could fit.

He offers me his hand and leads me over to the pocket he's created. I stare at the small space confused: there was barely enough room for one of us. But then he sits and gently pulls me down to fit in the small space between his legs, my back to his chest. He wraps his arms around me, cocooning me in his strength.

My heart is still pounding in my chest and I know he can hear it when he sighs my name. One of Maxon's hands move to cover my heart and I feel his breath appear next to my ear. Another scream and a bout of gun fire finally push me over the edge. A few tears slide down my face and I push back against my prince, trying the find that feeling of safety again.

I curl into him, twisting my body sideways. "I'm scared, Maxon."

"I know, my darling." Maxon runs his hands up a and down my arms.

"What if they find us?" I whimper.

"They won't," his words are clear and strong, but I can't bring myself to accept them.

"But what if they do?" I insist.

"America," I glance up at him. "If they found us, I would give them any secret, hand them any demand, lay down my life, my kingdom and my duty, in exchange for your life. I will never let them hurt you."

I take a deep breath and then, keeping my eyes open, close the gap between our lips. It's odd, kissing someone with your eyes open. It makes it impossible to deepen the kiss too much, leaving me with no choice but to limit the kisses to short, soft brushes of our lips. But it seems to be just what I need because soon my shaking stops.

I snuggle back into his broad chest, breathing in his aphrodisiac smell with every breath. "I trust you," I whisper.

"And I'll never fail you again," Maxon says, obviously referring to Marlee and Carter.

"You didn't fail me, Maxon. I know you did everything you could to keep them from severe punishment. I know because you would have fought for them like you're willing to fight for me, with everything in you."

He presses a kiss to my hair and leaves his head there resting against mine. By this time the shooting has mostly stopped and the screams are far and few between. We wait it out, holding onto each other. Both recognizing that this is a rare moment of peace, especially with Maxon's promise to his father that we would halt our public relationship for the moment. Rumors were nasty things, but when I had checked the news this morning, most of the alleged reports of our midnight tryst had been buried under the all-to-real rebel attack. Hopefully we would be able to resume sooner than we had thought. Not that we had been suffering that much, given the fact I was currently sitting on his lap, but just the idea of being separated from him was enough to make my heart ache.

We didn't say anything for another hour or so. Our minds wandering but always grounded with the presence of the other. I couldn't help but imagine long days of endless paper work, sorting through them with his arms lazily wrapped around me. I smile into the darkness, I can't believe I just daydreamed about paperwork.

At some moment I must have dozed off because when I come back to the world, Maxon is quietly whispering in my ear. Despite the slight stiffness in my back from the odd position, I feel refreshed. I'm starting to get used to falling asleep in the arms of this man.

"It's been quiet for a while," he says.

I hum in acknowledgment as I stretch. "Have we survived?" I joke, sleepily.

He chuckles softly. "I believe we have."

"Good." I state, then snuggle back into his hard body. "I can go back to sleep then."

"America," he laughs. "Is this how you'll be every morning? I don't know how your maids handle it."

My stomach warms at the reference to future moments like this. Not just future moments, but daily moments. "I think its a great way to start the day."

Maxon moves under me and somehow I know what he wants. I lift my head from his chest and sure enough he presses a kiss to my waiting lips.

"Me too," he agrees, that hopeful, loving smile on his handsome face again.

I stare into his eyes for another moment before breaking our connection. I stand up with a groan, forcing us to come back to reality. "I'm sure your mother is worried sick about you."

Worry clouds his eyes, like he didn't even think of his parents this entire time. "Damn, you're right."

"I'm always right." I say, not even bothering to look back at him as I climb over the boxes. My hair is a complete mess so I pull it into a quick braid. I find his coat hidden beneath one of the carts. "Here's your suit jacket."

"Thanks, I didn't even realize it was gone." He takes it from me and places another kiss on my forehead. "I don't know how long I can keep my promise to my father. There are a few dignitaries that I would like to have a real excuse to kill next time they look at you."

I roll my eyes before fixing his tie and hair. It seems oddly intimate. I like it. "You'll have to teach me how to tie a tie," I say as I see the same pleased look in his eye.

"And you'll have to teach me how to braid your hair, I seem to be messing up the neat curls your maids do quite often of late."

I smile one more time, smoothing my hands over his chest in an attempt to knock out the wrinkles. It doesn't work, but at least the jacket doesn't seem to be to bad.

"I don't want to leave."

"I know," Maxon drags his thumb over my small pout, but then dismissing it. "Stay here while I check to see if it's clear."

Maxon slowly opens the door, sticking his head out the crack.

"Your Highness!"

"Officer Danvers, is the Palace secure?" Maxon steps out but keeps his body blocking my exit, waiting for an affirmation that it was safe for me.

"Yes, Sir. The men are still checking the East Wing, but I doubt the rebels even got that far. The attack was mostly centered here."

"Very good. Are my parents and the ladies alright?"

"Your parents are safe, and all the ladies are accounted for except for one. Lady America, Your Highness. We cannot find her. We had hoped she was with you, but—"

"I am," I cut him off, pitying the man as he tries to find a way to tell the prince his supposed favorite is missing. Maxon allows me room to stand beside him now in the hall.

"Oh thank God, my lady." He visible deflates.

I laugh lightly. "I am sorry to have worried you. We could not make it to a Saferoom."

"No, no, ma'am. I completely understand. They came out of nowhere."

"Officer Danvers, I need you to take Lady America to her room, and make sure a guard is stationed with her until the East Wing has been thoroughly checked."

"Of course, Sir. Right away, Sir."

The officer, eager to complete Maxon's order motions for me to lead the way. I glance back at Maxon, wishing I could just stay with him.

"Go," he says. "I'll see you soon."

I nod before walking away with Danvers. We don't talk, my thoughts are still in that closet and I really don't feel up to conversation. I hope he chalks it up to exhaustion and not rudeness. Ignoring the person helping you is more Celeste's thing.

"Officer Leigthton," he calls as we pass a small group of guards. "Find Lady America's usual guard and get him to his post as fast as possible."

"Yes, Sir." The man rushes off to go find one of my usual protectors that Maxon has stationed outside my door. I panic for a moment, hoping it won't be Aspen. I still haven't had time to think about what to say to him.

We pass the large windows that overlook the garden and I stop for a moment, admiring the sunset. I hadn't even realized it was this late. "What time is it?"

"Nearly seven, My lady."

The Italian monarch would be here in three days. Three days, and Kriss and I haven't even started place settings or finalized the flower arrangements. We could not lose.

We get back to my room and I'm greeted by thankful maids and tales of worry. I eat dinner in my room and turn in around nine, exhausted from the emotions the day had held. But about an hour after my maids leave, I am still tossing and turning. I had already grabbed the extra blanket from the closet but I couldn't seem to get warm enough. Frustrated, I grab one of the harder pillows and bring it down so I can wrap my arms around it. I snuggle into it, glad I finally found a position I can sort of relax in.

I'm almost asleep when the door opens, dim light washing over my room. I spring up, hoping Maxon had come. I freeze when I realize it's not my prince. No, oh no, no, no. I'm not ready for this. No, please, no.

"Aspen," I whisper harshly. "What are you doing in here?"

"God, Mer," he walks quickly to the bed. "I was worried sick about you today."

My hand comes up to pinch the nose of my newly aching head. He moves to pull me into his arms but I flinch back, startled. Aspen looks down at me like I'm insane, hurt clear in his eyes.

"So it's true then?" he hisses thru his clenched jaw.

"What?" I snap, pulling my hand away from my eyes.

"You slept with the Prince," he accuses.

"I didn't sleep with anyone."

He scoffs. "He's using you Mer, he's—" he pauses and then his expression turns murderous. "Did he force you?"

I gasp, "of course not!"

"So you slept with him freely? I can't believe you'd—"

"I didn't sleep with him," I whisper-yell.

"I thought you were better than this. Better than being some palace whore, content on during everything for the crown. I thought you didn't even want—"

I slap him, the sound echoing in the silence of my room. His insults doing more harm than anything I could do to him. Him voicing Celeste's previous words hurting more than anything I'd ever felt, maybe even more than when he left me all those months ago. "Get out of my room, Aspen Leger. You shame yourself."

His wide-eyed, startled gaze cuts into mine for another moment before he turns and rushes back to his post. I feel the tears start to fall and I angrily wipe them away. I'm so sick of tears, and I sure as hell wasn't going to shed them over this asshole. Here I had been, afraid of hurting him, and he was so quick to think the absolute worst of me.

I throw myself back under my blankets, wrapping my arms around my hard pillow, and imagining it was a hard chest that could hold me back. And if I did cry for the betrayal of someone who used to mean everything to me, I'd never admit it.


	7. The Preparations

When the next day had come and gone, and, despite his parting promise to see me soon, I had yet to talk with him, I pulled my ear the first moment I caught his eye at dinner. He had nodded and discretely tugged his back before turning back to his conversation with Kriss.

After we finish eating, Kriss and I head to the library—the public one, not the one Maxon showed me last week. We bunker down in the padded chairs, ready for a night of research and planning. I'm so engrossed in the book on Italian wines, I don't hear the door open, nor do I hear someone behind us until he opens his moth.

"What are you ladies still doing up?"

Kriss and I jump in our seats. I grab my chest, smiling over my shoulder as my heart slows back to normal. Maxon winks at me and I feel my stomach flips.

"There's just so much work to be done," Kriss giggles, twirling her hair. I want to roll my eyes at the blatant, desperate flirting.

"Yes, but if your half asleep, it will take twice as long," Maxon reasons. "You might as well get enough sleep and save yourself for tomorrow, instead of pushing through another two or three hours, and being less alert in the morning."

"I suppose you're right," Kriss sighs, sticking out her bottom lip like a mile and fluttering her eye lashes. "But even thinking about cleaning this all up makes my head hurt."

"I'm sure the maids won't mind you leaving it out."

"Are you sure? I'd hate to inconvenience them."

"I'm absolutely positive your work won't be in anyone's way."

We shut our books and nearly hop out of the seats, eager to get to a bed.

"Allow me to accompany you two to your rooms," Maxon holds out each arm and we both take one. I watch as Kriss wraps herself around it. I know that Kriss is not that bad, really I do, but I can't stand being near her with Maxon in the room.

Kriss keeps the conversation centered on her, purposefully not letting me talk. I wonder what she thinks she has accomplished when, by the time we got to her room, she has a wide smirk on her face.

"Goodnight, Lady Kriss," Maxon nearly cuts her off after a good minute of her continued rabble after we had already reached her door.

She glances back at the door and then to Maxon, "Why don't we drop America off and than we can come back and enjoy some dessert. I can send for my maids—"

"But we're already at your room, Kriss," I interrupt with a sickeningly sweet voice.

"Lady America is right, you two need to sleep."

Kriss looks between us before huffing in unsatisfied defeat and turning on her heel into her room. It's not difficult to see that Maxon's second favorite is Kriss. I can't help but feel thankful that the position isn't reversed. I don't know what I would do if I had to watch Maxon chose someone else over me. I nearly shudder at the thought.

"Are you cold, America?"

"If I said that I was would you warm me up?" I glance up at him with what I hoped was a seductive smile.

Maxon visibly gulps and I feel a warmth bloom between my legs. He tugs my arm and we start the short walk to my rooms.

"You need sleep, my darling," his voice has dropped just a hint.

"It can wait."

We turn the corner and I stumble slightly. Aspen stood outside my door.

"America?" Maxon catches me immediately, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I can feel Aspen's eyes on us, but I pointedly ignore him. "I'm fine," I give him a smile that makes it look like the whole fall was a ploy to get into his arms. He rolls his eyes at me and laughs lightly. His laugh sends an unexpected jolt of pleasure thru me. I grab one of his hands and pull him into my room, never glancing at the guard.

The door shuts and Maxon drops a kiss to my hand. "Now that you've got me alone, what are you going to do with me?" His eyes are filled with a fire that I had never seen before. It takes my breath away and for a moment I'm thankful it was too dark to see this in the closet, because it had already been so hard to breathe and I surely would have asphyxiated.

His mouth had not yet left my hand. He was leaving hot, wet kisses over the entirety of the back of it, gently sucking and biting the skin there like he had to my neck. Maxon turns my hand, his lips never leaving, to lave the pulse he found on my wrist with the tip of his tongue. Goosebumps spring up all over my body, and I ponder the new feeling of them on my cheeks.

I'm putty in his arms, a slave to the feelings he's ignited in me, and he's only touched my hand. My mind is on hyperdrive. Recently I can barely smell him without becoming overwhelmed, and now with touch, smell, and sight, I don't stand a chance.

His fingers slowly trail up my bare arms, tracing light designs and patterns as he goes. Then he grabs both my wrists and guides my arms over his shoulders. My body presses flat against his, soft curves against hard muscle. I tuck my head into his neck and we hold each other for a moment. The long hours of work catch up to me and suddenly I'm exhausted.

"Sleep?" Maxon guesses, smug that he had been right.

"Not yet. Just lay with me for a while," I reply quietly.

"As you wish," Maxon whispers before lifting me up and carrying me to the bed.

"I'm supposed to call my maids when I'm ready," I protest as he slips off my shoes for me and then pulls back the blankets.

"Later," Maxon sits against the bed frame and I mold to his side, my head on his chest. "How's the planning going?"

"Fine, it's getting easier."

"And you and Kriss?"

"Fine," I glance up at him suspiciously. "As long as she doesn't mention you."

He chuckles. "You have nothing to worry about, America. I'm already yours."

I lean up to kiss him, but pull back before it gets too heated. "And I'm yours." My heart rejoices in the truth of that statement, there is nothing left to hold me back. Even my reservations about becoming queen seem trivial when I'm in his arms.

Maxon's head falls back against the headboard and his eyes close for a second. "You don't know what that means to me."

"What do you mean?"

He sighs. "I was so scared that this would end up being a hoax. That I wouldn't be able to find someone that I could truly connect with, someone that I wanted to be my wife. And I do want you, America. To be my wife," he clarifies as if there was a need.

"I want that to," I whisper, admitting it out loud for the first time.

Suddenly Maxon flips us and I end up underneath him with his arms caging my head. He lowers his mouth to mine and before I know it, we are caught up in each other again. Maxon's hands are everywhere again and I wonder if I'll ever get used to it. This amazing new feeling of kissing Maxon Schreave.

I sit up, pushing his coat off roughly and then returning my fingers to the tangles of his hair. Hands move up my legs to my thighs, dragging the dress with them. My head swims at the touch so close to that place he had touched before. I want that feeling, need it.

But then he moves his hands away. "Not tonight. You need your sleep," he sits back up and pulls me under his arm again. "This is a big deal, meeting our allies for the first time. You'll need to impress both, not just the Italians."

"What do you mean?" I ask, still breathless from the actions that had unfortunately been stopped.

"It's not imperative, of course, that both the Germans and the Italians approve of my choice, but my allies will become yours once we are married. And I want them to adore you as much as I do."

I smile at his need to compliment me every other sentence. It's nice, dream-like. Every little girl dreams of a prince to come and sweep her off her feet, and somehow I ended up with my own. I press a kiss to where my head rests on his chest.

"How do I impress the Germans if Celeste, Elise and Natalie are hosting? I don't want it to seem as though I'm taking over or stepping into their place. Plus, I know nothing of German culture, and with our project. . ."

"You're right," Maxon concedes. "But what if helped?"

"Helped how?"

"I could teach you the basics of the language. You already know three languages right?"

I look up at him skeptically, "how do you know that?" I don't remember telling him.

He smirked, "I have a copy of your registration papers."

"You mean my resume sheet for the job opening of wife and queen?"

Maxon laughed before playing along. "Yes, but the resume gets you in the door. The interview gets you the job."

"And what does this interview consist of?" I ask.

"Well, I'll need to examine your qualifications, test your skills, reveal your true personality, and receive a sample of your attributes."

"My attributes?" I fake suspicion. "How, sir, could you possibly hope to sample those?"

"You'll see soon enough," Maxon smirks again and I can see the playful, stress-free side of the prince come out. This will be fun. "Shall we start your interview, Ms. Singer?"

"Of course, Mr. Schreave."

"Well take a seat," Maxon easily lifts me from the bed and places me on his lap with only a little help from me as I situate my legs on either side of him. "We'll begin with qualifications. Have you any experience in running a country?"

"Outside of Silvia's classes?"

"Yes."

"No."

Maxon hums disapprovingly. "And what about the wife portion? Ever been a wife before?"

I manage to look solemn as I respond, "No."

"Interesting," Maxon deadpans. "Lets move on to skills, shall we?"

"Very well, Sir."

"First off, do you have anything you'd like to declare, anything at all? No skills useless in my line of work."

"I sing and play many instruments," I offer.

"I stand corrected, nearly no skills are useless—"I a sound of protest and offense—"Moving on. The Next category is personality, surely you can't fail this one as well."

"You jerk!" I exclaim and hit his chest lightly.

"Resorts to violence when challenged. Not a good trait to have in the workplace."

"Maxon!" I laugh. "You're impossible!"

"And a failure to maintain professionalism. One might think, Ms. Singer, that you are failing this interview on purpose."

"One might think my—"

"Language, Ms Singer!"

"You can't be—"

"Our final category is attributions," he talks over me. "What do you think you can bring to the marriage that no one else can?"

That's it. I jump forward and crash my lips into his. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, taking deep tastes of his mouth and tangling with his own. When I pull back I gently nibble on his bottom lip.

A rush of air leaves him and his eyes are hazy and unfocused. "My secretary will be in touch shortly."

I can't help the giggle that leaves me as I watch him fight off the daze. I can't believe this man is mine. When his eyes refocus there is an emotion so intense it stops my heart. The world freezes and there is only the two of us.

His hands come to support my head and my waist as he carefully rolls us. Maxon gently lowers my head, even though it is in no danger from the soft mattress. Somehow, he looks even more fervid when his eyes shine threw the dimmed light from above me instead of across from me.

He brings down his mouth to mine and it's the most passionate kiss I have ever experienced, and there is not a hint of lust in it.

"Tomorrow night, we'll start the German."

"Not tonight?" I ask breathlessly.

"No," is all he says before resuming our intimate kiss.


	8. The Allies

Despite Maxon's nightly visits, I miss him. During the next couple days I don't see him outside of meal times and German classes. In the one moment I did manage to talk to him, a passing conversation in the hall, Maxon informed me he was stuck in an endless list of meetings. No doubt the result of his father's insistence that the rumors had not quite died out yet.

Before we even realize it, Kriss and I are attending the other girls' reception in conservative gray dresses, and the Italians are set to arrive the next day.

We're on time, as is crucial to the culture, and the girls are already a mess. It's like Celeste is sabotaging herself. Where Elise and Natalie are in respectable deep blues, Celeste's dress is practically white. Put a veil on her, and this is a wedding. Not to mention how revealing it is, especially when she stands next to any of the German women. Most of them are wearing sleeves to their wrists despite the warm weather.

Natalie had been put in charge of the flowers and missed the detail that lilies were traditionally used at funerals. All the flower arrangements had to be removed hastily.

Elise, though clearly more agitated than she usually is, appears to be the image of calm. To our guests, she would look like the star.

I take a deep breath and put all the Italian away for a moment, bringing my nightly tutor sessions to the front of my mind.

One of the ladies turns to me and says hello.

"Hallo, mein Name ist Amerika."

Her eyebrows rise but she has a pleased smile on her face, "You speak German? I thought the other three were our hostesses tonight."

I quickly attempt the translation in my head: 'Speak German. I thought. . .three. . .hosting tonight.' Hopefully she just asked if I spoke German and asked after the other girls.

"The others are hosting. I only know a little."

The woman presses her lips to hide a smile or stop a laugh, I must have taken longer to answer than I had thought. I blush bright red, I should have listened to Maxon and practiced more during the last few nights instead of continually distracting us both.

"Oh, nein, nein," she waves her hand at my flaming cheeks. "I am happy you try," she says in broken English.

I can't help but return her smile. Comforted by her attempt at my language, I think of one of the phrases Maxon gave me to say. "How were your travels?"

"Very good, auber einem kleinen Strum über dem Atlantic. Nicth gut für das Fliegan."

I freeze for a moment, trying to process but I only come away with the first couple words. "Good."

She laughs and waves over another woman. She is introduced to me as Princess Margaretha. "Welcome to Illea," I recite.

"Danka," she replies.

"Margaretha, this is Lady America, the one we spoke of before."

They had spoken of me?

"Oh! She's very beautiful," the princess whispers to Lady Gisela, thinking I would not hear or understand. Unbeknownst to them, beautiful was one of the words I knew well. I blush slightly at the thought of the unorthodox ways Maxon had used to prove just how fluent he was in German. The weak wine I'm sipping on doesn't do much to remove my inhibitions.

Since I wasn't meant to hear them, I refrain from thanking her for the compliment. Gisela is a little better at whispering her reply, all I can make out was Maxon's name. I hope he didn't do anything too embarrassing.

Despite all the minor issues, it became clear that the true threat of disaster was Silvia and her clipboard. While the queen graciously aided the girls in hosting the German guests, Silvia walked the perimeter of the room, her sharp eyes missing nothing. It seems as if she has pages of notes before the event has even ended.

Bidding the Germans farewell is a sadder event than I had anticipated. Maxon had warned me to stay away from alcohol as much as I could throughout the night, so by the end of the small party, I end up being the most sober. A positive, I think, because none of the conservative foreigners consume much of the provided drink either. I make sure to say goodbye to all of my new acquaintances, addressing each by name. Their surprise at that makes me all the more sure that I have not only made a good impression like Maxon wanted, but also a few friends.

Celeste, who was almost completely ignored by the Germans, whether because of her dress or attitude, starts immediately complaining once we are alone. I say a few words in their defense before backing off in order to avoid a fight. The smirk happily situated on her face after she gets the last word confirms my hypothesis that she was too drunk to see the queen standing off to the left of the room.

I, however, do not overlook her and curtsy to Maxon's mother on my way out.

The next morning, Kriss comes to my room with her maids, and we get ready together. We want to make an effort to look similar enough so it was clear we are in charge but not so much alike we look silly. It's kind of fun having so many girls in my room. The maids all know one another, and they talk animatedly behind us as they work. It reminds me of how things had felt when May was here.

Hours before our guests are supposed to arrive, Kriss and I make our way to the parlor to double-check everything one last time. Unlike the other reception, we are forgoing place cards and letting our guests sit wherever they like. The band has come to practice in the space, and as a lucky bonus, it seems our choice of fabrics to cover the bland walls makes for great acoustics.

I straighten Kriss's necklace as we quiz each other on the conversational phrases one last time. She sounds very natural speaking Italian, and although my Italian is much better than my German, I don't sound as flawless.

"Thank you," she says.

"Grazie," I answer immediately.

"No, no," she replies, facing me. "I mean thank you. You did an amazing job on this."

"Thanks. You have, too. I don't know if I would have survived if I had to work with Celeste. You made it almost easy." Kriss smiles. I mean it, too. She was tireless.

Kriss bit her lip and considered for a moment. Quickly, as if she might lose her nerve, she spoke. "Did you really mean it when you said you're not sleeping with Maxon?"

I'm caught off guard for a moment, wondering if I should be offended she's asking again. "I meant it Kriss," I say, hoping this isn't going to turn into one of those 'how far have you gone' interrogations. The last thing I want to talk about is Maxon and I versus Maxon and her. Not that I'm not secure in my position with Maxon, but because I don't want to hurt her.

"Girls!" Silvia trills, rushing in through the doorway. I've never been so grateful to see that woman. "It's nearly time. Are you ready?"

Behind her, the queen comes in, a soothing calm to balance Silvia's energy. She studies the room, admiring our work. It's huge relief to see her smile.

"Almost ready," Kriss says. "We just have a few details to take care of. One we specifically need you and the queen for."

"Oh?" Silvia says curiously.

The queen approaches us then, her dark eyes warm with pride. "It's beautiful. And you both look stunning."

"Thank you," we chorus together. The pale-blue dresses with large gold accents had been my idea. Festive and lovely, but not too over the top.

"Well, you might notice our necklaces," Kriss starts. "We thought that if they were similar, it would help people identify us as hosts."

"Excellent idea," Silvia says, scribbling on her clipboard.

Kriss and I smile at each other. "Since you are both hosts here, too, we thought you should have ones as well," I say as Kriss pulls the boxes off the table.

"You didn't!" The queen gasps.

"For … for me?" Silvia asks.

"Of course," Kriss says sweetly, handing over the jewelry.

"You've both been so helpful. This is your project, too," I add.

I can see how touched the queen is by our gesture, but Silvia is completely speechless. I suddenly wonder if anyone at the palace has ever given her any kind of attention. Yes, we'd thought up the idea yesterday as a way to get Silvia on our side, but I'm glad we'd did it for more than that now.

Silvia might be overwhelming, but she does try to do all this instruction for our benefit. I vow to do a better job of thanking her.

A butler tells us our guests are arriving, and Kriss and I stand on either side of the double doors to welcome people as they come. The band starts playing softly in the background, maids begin circulating with hors d'oeuvres, and we are ready. I take a calming breath.

Elise, Celeste, and Natalie are walking toward us, surprisingly on time. Once they catch sight of our setup—the billowing fabric covering the drab walls, the sparkling centerpieces towering on our tables, the overflowing flowers—there is a clear ache in the eyes of Elise and Celeste. Natalie, however, is too excited to be bothered.

"It smells like the gardens," she says with a sigh, practically dancing into the room.

"A bit too much like it," Celeste adds. "You're going to give people a headache." Leave it to her to find fault with something beautiful.

"Try to sit at different tables," Kriss suggests as they pour past. "The Italians are here to make friends."

Celeste sucks her teeth, acting as if this is putting her out. I want to tell her to pull it together: We had been on our best behavior for her reception. But then I hear the warm buzzing conversation of the Italian women as they come down the hall and forget all about her.

The best way to describe the Italian ladies is statuesque. They are tall, golden skinned, and absolutely beautiful. As if that isn't enough, they are all so good-natured. It is like they carry the sun inside their souls and let it shine out on everything around them.

The Italian monarchy is even younger than Illéa's. They have been closed off to our attempts at friendship for decades, according to the packet I'd read, and this was the only time they've ever reached out to us. This meeting is the first step toward a closer relationship with a growing government. It had been frightening to think about until the moment they walked through the doorway, and their kindness melted my worries. They kiss Kriss and me on both cheeks and yell "Salve!" I happily try to match their level of enthusiasm.

I botch some of my Italian phrases, but our visitors are gracious, laughing off my mistakes and helping to correct me. Their English is impressive, and we dote on one another's hairstyles and dresses. It seems we've made a good first impression appearance-wise, and that helps me relax.

I end up settling in for most of the party next to Orabella and Noemi, two of the princess's cousins. Our conversation is light and fun, and I only spit out a small sip of wine when Noemi suddenly asks, "So, is he a good kisser?"

I was trying not to give too much away, but they knew.

"How good?" Orabella demands.

I press my lips together, debating not answering them, but eventually say, "what's the scale?"

"Oh!" Noemi squeals. "One to ten."

I give it a thought, my mind going back to the feel of his lips, the taste of his breath, the sureness of his hands and the sweet nothings he whispers. "A hundred," I answer dreamily.

"No!" Orabella gasps and slaps both hands down on the table. "You must tell."

I throw back my head laughing, and they join. Admittedly, girl talk is much more tempting when we aren't all competing for the same boy.

Before I leave I lean over as if I'm sharing a secret. "He's very romantic. When he wants to be," I say. They clap and laugh as I walk away, smiling at how playful they are.

Later that night, after I borrowed a minstrel's violin for a short song, Princess Nicoletta approaches me. Nearly immediately I realize the conversation is far from a friendly talk.

"We've been hesitant to make bonds with Illéa. Our people are much … freer than yours. You have the castes still, yes?"

I nod.

"We watch, of course. We see what happens here. The riots, the rebels. It seems people are not happy?"

I'm sure what to say. "Your Majesty, I don't know if I'm the best person to talk to about this. I don't really control anything."

Nicoletta takes my hands. "But you could."

A shiver runs through me. Is she saying what I think?

"We saw what happened to the girl. And we saw you. There's not much footage, but we saw you run. We saw you fight."

The look in her eyes mirrored the way Queen Amberly had looked at me this morning. There was unmistakable pride there.

"We are very much interested in forming a bond with a powerful nation, if that nation can change. Unofficially, if there is anything we can do to help you acquire the crown, let us know. You have our full support."

She crams a piece of paper into my hand and walks away. As she turns her back, she shouts out something in Italian, and the room roars with delight. I don't have pockets, so I quickly shove the note in my bra, praying that no one notices.

I am shocked and grateful, of course, to be on the receiving end of such a patronage, but I can't help but cringe at the way she referred to becoming queen as 'acquiring the crown.' I felt a pang of sadness at the thought that Maxon may have chosen someone who believed the same as Nicolette if I had continued to push him away.

Kriss comes over to me and asks if something's wrong. I shake my head and she pulls on my hand to get me to rejoin the party. I push the sad thoughts from my mind. They don't matter because I'm never going to make the mistake of losing him again.


	9. The Confession

Our reception goes on much longer than the first, and I suspect it was because our guests are too happy to actually leave. Still, for as lengthy as it is, the whole thing passes in a blur. The liveliness of the Italians is entralling, but I have to admit I am ready to sleep by the end of the night. Ready to sleep and hopefully see Maxon. I haven't seen his in two days, as he wanted me to get my sleep the night before.

"Lady America," Queen Amberly falls in step beside me as I head towards my room.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"You have done remarkably well these last two nights," she compliments

"Thank you, my lady. I enjoyed meeting the delegates from the German Federation and the Italian Monarch."

"It looked like you know german, did your mother teach you?" Her abruptness isn't rude, I think it is impossible for anything the queen does to be rude, but it's startling.

I don't respond immediately, not wanting to lie but unsure if I should tell the truth either.

"I'm sure the separation from Maxon has been quite difficult for you two." She looks at me from the corner of her eye and I know that she knows exactly where I learned my limited german.

"Your Majesty," I begin but she stops me.

"I trust my son," she says. "And if I'm being completely honest, I'm beginning to trust you as well."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." I feel as though everything is starting to go right. "For your trust and for last week," I add. She looks confused so I continue, "Maxon told me that the king wanted to send me home, but you fought for us. I'm beginning to realize, well," I look down at my hands, embarrassed. "I'm starting to see that I don't know what I'd do without him."

"That's all the thanks I need, America." She smiles softly, motherly, before an odd emotion crosses her face. "There's something I should tell you, something I learned the hard way when Clarkson chose me. The Selection is more than the future king choosing a queen. It's political, the process I mean. Even though Maxon might know who he wants, there are hoops and ceremonies and tests that need to be completed before he can propose. This means that even if his heart is already engaged, he will have to continue to court the other ladies."

"Why?" my chest started to hurt even thinking of it.

"The advisors choose the selected, the people choose the Elite, qualifications chose the final three, and Maxon chooses a wife. There are ways that a prince can influence these choices, taking a girl on a romantic date in front of cameras, talking about her the most on the Report, teaching her parts of a language to impress allies, or arranging for her to receive better training or advice during the final stages, but he must keep up the charade of the others. The Selection is a tradition for all of Illea, and everyone takes pride in playing their parts. If Maxon was to chose a lady the first week, the Selection would be seen as prearranged. If Maxon was to ignore a strategic candidate like Lady Elise, he would be seem as ignorant. If he was to dismiss a people's favorite like Marlee, insensitive. If the candidates were narrowed down to the final two, and he upset an influential family such a the Newcomb's, offensive."

"And if he married a five?" my vice was barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer. I had never thought anything could be so complicated.

"It can be done, America. But you need to be careful not to upset the delicate balance. If you asked, or even hinted, at wanting the Selection over tomorrow, I fear Maxon would do it. If you asked for a specific lady to be gone, Maxon wouldn't hesitate to think about the consequences. Because you were a five, proving to the country that you can be queen through opportunities like these dinners will be invaluable.

"But you will also need patient with Maxon as he attempts to navigate these dangerous waters. He will need to be seen with the other girls, dates, talks, maybe a few kisses. If he feels the way I suspect he does, it will be just as hard for him as it will be for you. Be his anchor. Let him know that you trust him. Love him selflessly."

Selflessly not selfishly. Could I do that? Maxon deserves no less, of course, but I'm not good at being selfless. I've known that Maxon has preferred me since before the Halloween Ball and I know that he was waiting for me to come around, not sparring with his own doubts. The queen seemed so confident that Maxon loved me, and he's hinted at it before, we both have. Perhaps it was time for me to get over my fears and just admit it. But how can I tell him I love when I'm still hiding what happened with Aspen from him.

I smile, which feels more like a lie, and thank her again. She could tell something was wrong, but probably chalked it up to being upset over her words. I was grateful when I reached my room without meeting anyone else. For the first time in a week, I have no desire to see my prince.

"Anne, can I take a bath?"

"A bath, my lady?"

I hadn't taken on since I got here, preferring the complex shower, so I know she's shocked. "Yes," I say simply as she hurries to ready the small pool that was sunken into the floor in the corner of the bathroom.

"You can go," I tell my maids as I step into the bath. "I'll dress myself for bed."

Once alone, I look down at the pinkish foam, trying to remember the last time I played with bubbles in a bath. I pull my knees up to my chest in the warm water as a hundred moths tore up the inside of my stomach. Tears stream down my face and they mix with the steam coming up.

I feel sick, so, so, sick. Why had I been so stupid? What the hell had I been thinking? I think back to that night Aspen first came into my room. He had only been there because Maxon had been worried about me sleeping alone. Because he thought I would be more comfortable with someone I knew. Maxon, being the kind, amazing man had stationed a guard outside my door to keep me safe, because he worried about me. And how did I repay him?

I sob. I don't want Aspen. I want Maxon, but how could I continue to look him in the face?

Love him selflessly, his mother had said.

How can I do that? I'm the most selfish person I know. I hate it. I hate that I did this. I hate my weaknesses and my flaws. I hate all these mistakes I made. I hate how I'm not free to love Maxon like he deserves. I hate how I'm not even capable of it. I hate how the only think I want is to be wrapped up in Maxon's arms right now.

I let the tears and the cries come, and they aren't quiet. My waters run cold but I don't care. My mind doesn't stop. I jerk and cry in frustration and sob and feel my shame like a thousand pounds trapping me in the only thing I hate more than my actions: myself.

I think about the queen and her gentle support and pride. I think about the Italian Princess's hope and faith in me. I think about the lashings on Marlee's hands and Carter's back. I think about the feeling I got when I introduced my family to Maxon. I think about Aspen's doubt that I could never be queen. I think about Celeste's stupid article. I think about the night I went to Maxon's room. I think about how a father could whip his child. I think about how a woman could betray a man. I think about how I'm no better than his father.

A hand on my shoulder startles me and I jerk away from the unexpected touch. Maxon kneels by the edge of the tub, concern and worry evident on his face. "My darling, are you alright?"

I should have known he would have come tonight. I try to speak but my throat is clogged so I settle for a pathetic shake of my head. He reaches for me, as if the sight of me in pain makes him forget everything else. He pauses, seeming to notice that I am, in fact, naked.

I know what I must look like, tear stained eyes that have been rubbed raw, a quivering bottom lip as I try to hold back my sobs, and a completely pruned body from the hour plus spent in the water. I expect him to advert his eyes like most gentlemen would, but he doesn't. It's like he doesn't even care, I might as well be fully dressed or wearing a ridiculous costume because he has more pressing matters to attend to. He leans down over the water, bringing my head into his shoulder. My soaking wet hair rests on his expensive suit but he pays my protest no heed.

Maxon grabs the towel Anne had left on the counter and helps me out of the bath, never once sneaking a peek or being anything other than absolutely perfect. I love him. It's so clear, so simple. So true. I love him, and I can't keep this from him any longer.

I take the towel from him and after making sure I was sturdy, he leaves me to change. Anne had kindly left out a nightdress and gown. I take the longest amount of time possible to dry off and dress, not wanting to do what I knew I have to.

When I'm finished, I find Maxon sitting on my bed. It feels so natural to see him there. A thought crosses my mind, I could just not tell him. I could forget about everything to do with Aspen and no one would ever be the wiser. But no, I couldn't live with myself. I love him too much to lie to him anymore.

I walk to his side and collapse into his arms, telling myself that I had sixty seconds. Sixty seconds before what I know will be the worst moments of my life.

Times up.

"I'm so sorry, Maxon," I begin. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what, my darling?" He asks confused.

He doesn't understand. He needs to stop calling me his darling. I'm not. I'm the one who hurt and betrayed him. I'm the one who cheated and lied.

"I-I," my stutter breaks way to more sobs.

Maxon pulls back, "America?"

I look up into his handsome, loving face. I want to tell his how much I love him. Tell him I want to marry him. Tell him I'll be his from this day till forever. But I can't. I won't taint those words by saying them tonight. I know after I tell him about Aspen, he'll send me home. I'll never be able to see his face light up when I finally tell him I love him. I'll never get to see his eyes look up at me in the face of my baby girl. I'll never hear him tease me out of my sleepy state again. I'll never spend another moment in the arms of my prince.

I look away from him, unable to see his face as I tell him this. "I kissed a guard."

"What?" Disbelief and accusation flood through that one word.

"One of the guards stationed at my door, the one from Carolina. I've kissed him."

"Why? When?" The words break me in a way I doubt will ever be fixable.

"He was the one who left me, the one who broke my heart. He wanted me back, said he made a mistake. I was confused, I, I didn't know what to do."

"You say no, America!" He jumps from the bed in righteous anger.

"I know! I know that now," I cry. "It was a mistake, it was all a mistake. I don't want him, Maxon, I don't love him anymore."

"I thought you loved me," he whispers to himself.

"I do," I admit, but he doesn't seem to hear me.

"Why?" He demands.

My sobs are interrupted by annoying hiccups that make the words even harder to get out. "I was homesick. He was safe. I–"

"Safe?" Maxon yells. "It could have gotten you killed!"

"I know. I wasn't thinking," I say.

"No, you weren't." He all but spits out the words. The prince runs a hand through his blonde hair like I had done so many times and would never do again. "God, I was so stupid," he says to himself.

Before I can oppose him he suddenly asks, "Do you love him, America? Do you want me to send you back to Carolina?"

"No, no I—"

"You what? You can't expect me to keep you here."

"I know," I choke on the words. _But I wish you could_.

"I wanted forever with you, America."

"I want that too," I beg him to understand.

"Then how could you do this?"

"I just—"

"You know, you just, you wanted. What about me, America? How could you sit there and tell me you wanted to marry me, that you were mine? This past week has been the best in my life, and it was all lies."

"No, nothing I said to you was a lie."

"You were seeing someone else," Maxon shouted.

"Not then. Not now. I stopped, Maxon, I swear to God I stopped. Everything that I have said to you since I came to your room has been true. Everything we've done. Everything we've felt."

Maxon shakes his head, "I trusted you." With that, he turns on his heel and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

One thought consumes me: I had just lost everything


	10. The War in New Asia

I don't usually write Author Notes but a lot of questions were raised in the last couple chapters that I felt needed to be answered.

 **1). I am about half way, I think. I haven't planned anything past this chapter yet, so I don't really know. It will probably end up around 40,000 words. Hopefully;)**

 **2). DO NOT WORRY! This is MAXMERICA all the way. They just have a few bumps in the road before they get it right.**

 **3). Thank you so much for the support and feedback, I love hearing from you guys. Sometime reviews are the only thing that can keep me writing the story.**

 **4). By your request. . . Maxon**

For the last fifty-one hours a battle raging more gruesome than the historical Gettysburg has been waging in my mind, while my heart has felt more like the Titanic. When America had told me that she had kissed the guard, betrayal had taken hold of me like a noose and the more I try to pull away, the tighter it gets. The worst part about this battle, is I don't know which side I support. The North: the side that wants to free me from America's grasp. The part that wants to save the Union, to save me, knowing that if I continue down the path, it will only lead to darkness. Or the South: the side that wants to keep me a slave and return me to America, to forgive her.

I run my hand down my face. That probably isn't the most helpful metaphor.

"Maxon," my father calls as I pass his office.

"Yes, father?"

He stands up from his desk, piling up the papers he was just working on. "There's trouble in New Asia. General Grant sent an emergency S.O.S. at 0200 this morning. One of the bases bordering Tairan was damaged during a raid. It was locals, not executed well enough to be planned by New Asia themselves, but we are needed for the reassertion of power."

"Tairan?" I ask, surprised. Tairan is in the Southeast, far from where we are publicly fighting the war. It is also some of the most dangerous air space besides Hong. We have no business being there, let alone engaging in a reassertion of power.

"Yes, Maxon," Father snaps. "I hope you have enough common sense to keep the location out of the media."

"Father, Tairan is deep into New Asian territories. Wouldn't it be safer to pull our troops out of that area? I can't believe that the War Council supports holding land in such a place."

"Why do you think we are going ourselves, Maxon?" Father replies with little patience. "The base is top secret, used as a resupply and a headquarters for any operations that can't be done through the red tape that imposed upon the fight in Hong. They occupy four small villages who farm and keep the well working for the men."

"And what keeps the villagers from striking out or going to the Asian forces?" I'm already dreading the answer.

"Workers, in the base."

"You mean slaves and hostages."

Father waves his hand dismissively. "Insurance."

My hands fist at my side.

"And the villagers have seemed to forgotten just why we keep them." Father locks the files into the safe and after a quick glance to check if everything is in order, he nods to the door. "We leave immediately."

As the orders for a car to be brought up are being carried out, we make our way to the Women's Room to say goodbye to Mother and the ladies. My father is in a fit as the maids insist on asking mother for permission to let us in. It would be comical, anything denied to my father usually is, but I'm nearly positive between this new information and the event of the other night, I have forgotten how to laugh. A maid opens the door and we rush into the room.

From the corner of my eye I see the girls curtsy, but this is not the time for formalities.

"Dear ladies, we are sorry to intrude, but we have urgent news," the king informs the room at large, his insincere tone irking me. Am I the only one who could tell?

"I'm afraid we've had a development with the war in New Asia," I say firmly. "The situation is so dire that Father and I are leaving this very moment to see if we can do any good."

"What's wrong?" the Mother asks, clutching her chest. Does she buy the excuse I told the ladies, or does she know about the base in Tairan and the methods being used?

"It's nothing to worry about, my love," My father says confidently. I wonder if I'll lie to my wife as well. Surely America would like to know the truth.

Shit.

I walk over to my mother, pushing away that thought. I can no longer afford thoughts of a future that can never come to be.

"How bad is it truly, Maxon?" my mother asks in a quiet whisper. In my heart I scold myself for ever considering she could condone the use of human beings as insurance.

"We will be fine, Mother, I promise."

She studies my face and, for a moment, I think it is in search of a lie, but then she says, "There is a sadness in your eyes, my son."

I look down, "I know, Mother. I am trying to dispel it."

She tuts quietly before kissing my forehead. "While you are gone, perhaps think about what you wish to come home to. That is all that truly matters, Maxon. Everything else is negotiable."

Not everything. But I merely nod, hugging her briefly. "I love you, Mother."

My father steps into the place I vacate and then begins rattling off a list of instructions to complete while we are gone.

My good-bye to Natalie is short. Natalie doesn't seem too emotional, and I don't know what to make of that, except a slightly guilty relief. She does not seem to be forcing a calm, but rather seems indifferent to my presence. It's nice to know, as she is the one I was planning on cutting next. Well, up until three days ago.

I move to Celeste and she is instantly draped over me. Somehow. And then she starts crying. Lord give me strength. Years of political training are the only things that stop me from rolling my eyes and dumping her onto the floor. Training and what seems to be a jealous America, if the edge of my peripheral vision can be trusted. I detangle myself from the Two and as I go to stand, I'm shocked into a stupor by her lips on my own.

I pull away quickly, not liking the film of lipstick I know transferred onto my mouth. I nod once to Celeste, clenching my jaw as a thousand feelings add the chaos of my heart like sharks in the water. What right did she have to kiss me? As soon as my back is turned, I wipe my mouth as if I could wipe away the past itself.

A familiar laugh floats through my head, followed by a memory of America rubbing my forehead in an attempt to forget a different kiss.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm erasing that memory. I think we can do better.'

Once again, I push the thought of her away and move on to Elise.

"Call ahead and tell them to go easy on us," I joke.

"If you get me a phone, I will talk to my parents," she promises. I admire Elise. She's gentle without being weak, confident without being arrogant, and strong without resorting to bullying or intimidation. I nod, motioning Silvia over to her to get her a phone.

"We will return soon, My Lady." I place a kiss to her hand before walking over to Kriss. Immediately, she laces her fingers with mine.

"Will you be in danger?" she asks quietly, her voice beginning to shake.

"I don't know. During our last trip to New Asia, the situation wasn't nearly so tense. I can't be sure this time." Her concern is touching and I know completely genuine. She'll be a good choice, the North reasons. I silence the South before it can rear its stupid, painful head.

Kriss lifts her gaze to the ceiling and sighs, "Please be careful," she whisperes. A tear falls onto her cheek.

"Of course, my dear." I give her a small salute, which makes her laugh a bit. Then I lean in and kiss her cheek. "Please try to keep my mother entertained. She worries."

I pull back to look into her eyes, she is truly a sweet girl. Kriss nods once and lets my hands go. The second we're no longer touching, a tremor goes through her body. I go to embrace her, but stop. The pain is still too great.

"America," I say simply, avoiding looking at her.

"Your Highness," she whispers. We are silent for a moment before she speaks up again, if you could call it speaking up. "Please be safe."

I stand for another moment. If something does happen on this trip, I don't want my last words to America to be filled with hate, but I can't find any others. Before any of the other people in the room can sense the true depth of the rift between us, my father calls me.

"Just," America's head shoots up as I finally find my voice. "Don't do anything until I get back."

She nods, but I need more than that.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

My father calls my name and I walk to him, thankful I don't have to say anything else to her.

The plane ride to our base in Hong is long, twenty three and a half hours to be exact. There is a little turbulence, but as we only flew over rural areas and cities controlled by Illea, there is no major complication. We are greeted by General Vansise as we land and are immediately brought up to the large conference room to be debriefed. This is not an unfamiliar process for me, as I have been to the base many times, but what I am shocked about is that Tairan is never mentioned.

I watch my father play diplomat and satisfy the demands of the many high ranking officials lining the room. All the while knowing that one of these men, if not all of them, condoned the actions that were being taken in Tairan. My only comfort is that I know when I'm king, things will be different.

It takes four hours and fifteen minutes to finally leave the base. My father and I shuffle into the back of a covered truck along with what looked like a response team. I wasn't told and didn't intend to ask. The drive takes up what is left of the night and the sun is just rising over the far off peaks when we finally come to a stop.

I can hardly ignore the natural beauty surrounding me and I can't help but long for my camera. Then, in a way that only seems to be achievable by the actions of my father, I'm ripped away from the beauty by a single bloodcurdling scream.

"What is going on?" I demand.

"The reassertion of our power, Maxon," Father responds, walking past me towards the direction the sound came from. The Tairani base is small, but it towers above the pitiful tents and ruins of the village like an all-seeing eye, the true sign of a dictator.

The scream came from a courtyard that is partially bordered by the Illean base. Across the courtyard are several men wearing chain like cuffs on their wrists and ankles. They are accompanied by men in a version of the Illean uniform, except there is no emblem and they have handkerchiefs pulled up to their noses. Each soldier is carrying a loaded AK-47 and from their ready position, I can tell they are prepared and expecting to fire them.

We are led to a raised platform to stand by three other men, two generals and a what looks to be a local. I assume the third man must be a mayor or elected official of the town because he is dressed significantly better than the men in the chains. One of the generals pushes the local towards the front and he does so with great hesitancy.

"My friends," the mayor begins in the vernacular, his mandated script in his hands. "You have been warned many a times about the consequences of your disobedience. Your actions cause ours."

From the base are led nine women. If I had thought the bindings of the men were bad, it was nothing compared to them. A sensation of needles flare in my body and my muscles coil tight. They are wearing collars.

The reaction in the square is instantaneous. The men yell and struggle against their restraints as the women openly weep. The line is dragged towards a row of large posts. I recognize the setting immediately: a caning. Except I doubt it will be as mechanical as the punishments inflicted in Illea. No number is announced, no crime is proclaimed, no official sentence is ever stated. This is my father's insurance. Act out, and we punish your loved ones.

The first cry of the whip sounds and it sends chills down my back. I know how it feels to have your back mercilessly split open by the unforgiving leather of a switch. Tens of shrilling voices join the first and soon a cacophony of pure agony replaces the serine beauty that was the rising sun. But as I watch the scene I can't decide which group is more painful to witness, the women clinging to the posts, or the men's cries of anger and fear.

"Father, these women are innocent."

"They are guilty by association, Maxon. You can not afford to be lenient with people like this."

"Then punish the men, punish the ones who rebelled. This is—" I struggle to come up with a word equivalent to this action. This is wrong, inexcusable, savage.

"This is necessary," the king said. "It is the most effective way to keep them in line."

"But—"

"We have yet to implicate such measures in Illea, but if you don't learn to hold your tongue perhaps we could test it. Your precious Five would do quite nicely as a proper motivator."

My blood freezes cold in my veins. "If you touch her," I growl through my teeth.

"You'll what?" My father taunts calmly. When I don't respond he continues, "You will hold your tongue, Maxon, until such a day that you realize these moves protect the state."

He threatened America. That is the only reason I don't continue to speak out. I don't care what she's done, I will protect her till my dying breath, even if that means I am forced to hold it while I watch my father sow seeds of destruction in the earth.

I look back to the square and can imagine myself in their position. Most of the men have fallen to their knees, some eyes are glued to their respective anguish, others stare at the dusty cobblestones. But there is one man still standing. He is watching a particularly quiet woman, her back still straight and her arms wrapped firmly around the post. The man is saying nothing, but he doesn't have to, his message is clear: this will not break her; this will not break me.

I glance back at the chains wrapped around their throats and I no longer see something to be pitied, there is plenty who will pity them. I see strength and a determination to carry on no matter the circumstances, no matter the consequences. Focusing on the couple I realize something. America, no matter her actions, is not my bondage. She is my freedom.


	11. The Summons

**America**

Maxon left five days ago and the palace has seemed like hell without him. Kriss came to me asking about my relationship with Maxon, how far it's gone, if he's made promises. I said that we've kissed and that there are no valid promises between us, and it almost killed me to put into words the truth I have known since he left my room. That the promises we had made, said and felt, were no longer valid.

I miss him.

The emptiness that has consumed my heart isn't like the viscous beast that had devoured me after Aspen, rough and brutal. It is more like something triggered a black hole in the center of my heart and it is slowly sucking more of me into it. The gardens are dull reminders, it's blooms invoking an anguish deep in my soul. I find solace in my violin, playing longer, more complicated pieces, curtesy of the palace. Lucy has taken to doing her work in the room while I play. I yearn for the comfortable silence that has formed between us, as it's unlikely I will be able to enjoy it for much longer.

Sometimes I catch the queen watching me. Her gaze nearly breaks my resolve to stay until Maxon returns. I can't help the tidal wave of guilt that washes over me at her private inquiries. A few times I'm tempted to release all the shame in one long scream, that way she would know that I didn't disregard her advice, but took it to heart, wrecking both mine and her son's.

My nights are filled with self accusations as I constantly put my actions on trial. The juries out on whether or not it was more selfish to relieve my own guilt at the expense of Maxon's heart or to never tell him of my mistakes. More often than I care to admit, I wish I could go back in time and untell him.

"My Lady, it's time to wake up," a gentle voice pulls me from my half sleeping state.

I roll over and my eyes fall upon the dress laid across my vanity. "Anne?" I ask when I notice the intricacies stitched into the fabric, unusual for a morning dress.

"The prince returned last night, my lady. We wanted you to look your best."

I examine the dress from my bed, it's truly beautiful. Simple, but elegantly made. I would definitely stand out from the ladies, while still conforming to the palace norms. Once again, I'm in awe of my maids. That why it hurts me so much to say, "Anne, I don't think I can go down to breakfast this morning."

Concern overtakes her face, "Are you feeling ill, My Lady?"

"A little," I say, hiding my face so she won't be able to check symptoms. It's not a lie, my chest feels as if its trying to suffocate itself. But it's not an illness that can be treated. I can't see him yet, I can't deal with the look of distrust and indifference he gives me.

"But My Lady, the Prince," Anne protests, thinking I would be jumping at the opportunity to see him after his trip, no doubt chalking up my depressed mood over the last week to be results of his absence. And it is, but not his physical absence.

"Give my apologies, but I do not feel well enough to go down to breakfast."

"Of course, My Lady. Would you like me to fetch the doctor?"

"No, that won't be necessary, Anne. A few headache pills and I'll be fine."

"Right away, My Lady." Anne goes to the windows, "I'll redarken the room and allow you to rest."

"Thank you, Anne." I slide back down into the blankets as if to go to sleep, my intent to hide from the world until the foreboding summons comes. Maxon is back, so it will be coming soon.

Without realizing I fall asleep again, a side effect from not being able to sleep during the night. When I awake, I can hear hushed voices coming from my closet. I recognize the voices of Anne and Mary. Apparently Lucy overslept this morning, causing Mary to have to search for her instead of being there to wake me this morning. Although I feel bad for Lucy as I listen to Anne's scolding, I'm glad it happened a morning that we didn't need her that much.

Trying to give them privacy, I focus on getting myself prepared for any situation that might arise from the prince's return. I look down at my thin nightdress, I need to change. I grab the dress from my vanity and fully take it in. It's dark blue with golden lace and falls just over my knees.

There's a knock at my hall door and Mary exits the closet. She looks shocked then guilty that I'm awake. I wave her off and she walks slowly to the door, obviously planning to send them away.

"His Highness has sent for the Lady America," a gruff voice announces.

"My Lady is a little under the weather," Mary starts. I can tell by her body language that she is a little put off by the briskness of what she assumes is an invitation, but, as always, she puts the my needs above everything else.

The guard, clearly unused to his orders not being the final say in any matter, replies, "His Highness was very clear—"

"The Lady America is not to be disturbed until a later time, perhaps this afternoon," Mary says tightly.

"I am under orders not to be deterred," the haughtiness in his voice makes me finally step in. I knew this needed to happen sooner or later.

"It is fine, Mary," I say, drawing their attention to me.

"But My lady—"

"Lady America, the Prince requests your presence," he cuts her off.

"Of course," I give a stressed smile, trying to defuse the tension. "Forgive my maids, officer. I'm afraid their efficiency works against them in this situation."

He merely grunts and gestures down the hall, wanting to waste no more time to fulfill his orders. With a backwards glance at Mary, I follow his directions. We walk in silence, his heavy steps in perfect rhythm, until we reach the third floor. I'm shocked to see that the corridor we are traveling down is the same Maxon had brought me to when we had gone to the library. The guard stops without warning, making me continue walking for a few moments before I realized. I nearly roll my eyes at his rudeness, but then stop at the thought that he might know the reasons behind the summons.

Suddenly I'm terrified. When I had told Maxon, I wasn't thinking about what could happen to me beyond the fact that we would be forever separated. But Maxon could take legal steps, steps that would end my life. The guard knocks on the door but my new found knowledge keeps me from raising my head. I hear his muffled voice for within and my heart stops. Of course I knew Maxon would be waiting for me, but knowing and seeing and hearing him for the first time in nearly a week are very different.

I step into the room and immediately take it all in. Two large bookcases line one wall, floor to ceiling, and the other wall is lined with cabinets and maps covering the wall. The third is made up of a window with deep curtains pulled halfway across it. Towards the front of the room there is a large desk covered with neat stacks of paperwork and not so neat miscellaneous objects scattered between them.

But the two major features in the room represented the two worlds I had foolishly assumed would never meet. Maxon behind his desk and Aspen in a one of the two chairs before it. Aspen doesn't turn around when I enter but Maxon looks up. Our eyes meet. For a moment the world around us faded away and all is silent.

"Sit," he nods to the open chair. I do.

I trace the dark designs on the carpet with my eyes, thanking God my feet just barely touch the ground as I sit in the large chair. Out of the corner of my eye I see Aspen watching me.

"Mer," he whispers. I know it was meant to be low enough fir Maxon not to hear but by his small tensing I know he did.

A single tear glides down my face. How did I get here, my entire world in pieces around me?

"So you do know each other?" My head jerks up at his soft voice, this isn't what I was expecting. But then, Maxon never is. "I had hoped . . ." he trails off, turning away from the desk to look out the window. I study his broad back and my heart constricts as I watch his shoulders sink a fraction.

I know exactly what he hoped, he hoped it wasn't true.

"Your Highness, I thought you already knew Lady America and I knew each other from Carolina. I won't deny that we've had private conversations, but Lady Singer has never been anything but a lady."

"Aspen," I try to stop him, panic blooming inside of me. He is so apt in stressful situations, like that time we had been caught by my maids, and I'm afraid that he will only make it worse. He thinks Maxon doesn't know for sure, he thinks it might have been a rumor that had led to this meeting. That's why he wasn't staring in hatred from the minute I walked in, he hasn't even considered I might have confessed myself.

"Any untoward actions that someone might have seen were solely on my part. She had nothing to do with anything—"

"Aspen, stop," I beg.

"It is obvious that Lady America is in love with you," Maxon jolts at that, "she could never—"

"Aspen!" I put my hand on his arm to grab his attention. He looks at me, confusion and fear spread across his face.

"You are very convincing, Officer Leger," Maxon finally turns back around to face us. His eyes land on my hand on Aspen's arm and I yank it back as if his eyes burnt it. I expected a cringe or something, but Maxon doesn't react to me touching Aspen. It's even worse than the pain. "If I had heard the truth from anyone else, I might have even believed you. I seem to be rather blind when faced with realities I'd rather avoid."

I can feel Aspen's gaze on me but I can't tear mine off of Maxon. There was a time, albeit a short time, that I had thought I would be the one to unload the burdens that rested on the shoulders of a nineteen year old boy forsaken by the world but expected to carry it. Now I'm the one that has caused the greatest strife.

Without moving my focus, I say "I told him, Aspen."

"What," he whispers, incredulously, but when I don't repeat myself he yells it again. "What the hell were you thinking, America!"

Once again I don't respond.

"Look at me, damnit!" He yanks the arm of my chair to the side, spinning me to face him. I stare into his hurt eyes. Eyes that had been my companion for years, eyes that I had memorized in a dim candlelight, eyes that had trusted me, protected me, loved me.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, knowing that those words from me mean little to either of the men in this room.

"Why?" He demands, but has lowered his voice.

"I couldn't lie to him anymore, Aspen. I couldn't," my voice breaks.

"It wasn't just your secret to tell," he replies angrily. "They'll kill us, Mer!"

"No," the word is the firmest I had been able to form since I had entered. "He won't."

"How could you do this? Was it worth it!"

"Yes." Only knowing the answer as it passes my lips. "When you left me in the treehouse, you didn't regret it. Sure, it hurt, but it was the right thing to do. To protect me, love me, even at the cost of your own heart. I didn't understand that decision, I didn't understand that you could love someone like that. But I do now. I know what it's like to love someone so exponentially more than yourself, I know what it's like for the greatest form of love to be something that hurts them. I'm sorry I dragged you into this too. And I'm sorry that I couldn't love you like you loved me. But this secret was my caste, the part of me that wasn't good enough for him. And I couldn't let it poison him. I had to tell him. I couldn't lie to him anymore. It was my choice. My decision."

"Mer," he shakes his head, not wanting to believe me.

"If I had any doubt that Maxon would hurt you, I wouldn't have been able to get close to falling in love with him. He is the best man I've ever known and no matter what you, or anyone, thinks, he will be an amazing king. Trust isn't someone I'm very good at, but I do know it when I see it. And I trusted Maxon with this, not thinking he'll keep it because I was one of his favorites, or because having two ladies defect would humiliate the crown, but because he is fair and just." I turned to look at Maxon, "He won't punish someone for hurting him or for not seeing who he really was before it's too late. He won't hurt someone because they didn't realize how much they loved him until they had already made to many mistakes to ever be worthy of him."

I stare in Maxon's eyes and watch as hundreds of emotions pass through them. "You are dismissed, Officer Leger. Go back to your duties and tell no one of this. I will decide on a further course of action at a later time."

For a moment, Aspen doesn't move and I almost fear he won't. But then I see a shape stand up in my peripheral vision and the sound of footsteps fill the otherwise silent room.

When the door shuts softly, Maxon takes carefully planned steps around the desk like soldier trying to find his way through a mine field. He leans his hip on his desk and crosses his arms over his chest, closing himself off as if his unconscious knew all I did was hurt him and was trying to protect him. "The last time we were attempting to put this thing between us back together, I asked you to tell me something. I let it go because of him," he nods to the recently empty chair. "Because of how he hurt you."

I swallow back the rising tears.

"If you meant everything you just told him, tell me one thing."

"Anything," I breath.

"Tell me what changed. Why did you decide to tell me that night instead of waiting until the end of the Selection or even years after it was over? What made you need to confess that moment?"

"Your mother," I say.

His brow furrows, "My mother?"

I nod. "She came to me after the Italian celebrations. She told me that you deserved to be love selflessly. And I knew that in order for me to do that, I needed to be honest with you. Even if I lost you because of it."

"Love me selflessly?" Maxon asks. "I wasn't even aware you loved me at all."

"How could I not?"

He is quiet a moment, he's been doing that a lot since I walked in, thinking before he speaks. "Don't do that," he says. "Just say the words. No more skirting around it, no more hinting, no more pretenses. Just say the words."

Despite that fact that I haven't allowed myself to hope that he's rethought his words last week and decided to let me stay, I know I can't deny him this, anymore than I can deny my feelings for him. I take a deep breath and breathe the words that have been playing on my mind for so long. "I love you, Maxon."

I expect something, a response, a shift, even a change of breath but nothing comes. The words hang in the air as if they're lighter than the oxygen in the room, but the longer they stay there they drop in my stomach like an anchor.

Finally, he speaks. "Since you've arrived here, you've assaulted me, used me, shunned me, ignored me, yelled at me, fought me, humiliated me, and betrayed me." My eyes fall to the ground in shame. "Yet in the next moment, you are praising me, kissing me, apologizing to me, tempting me, and making me love you more than I ever thought possible.

"I'm a man of my word, America. And I promised you, all those nights ago, that if you ever said those words I'd make you my wife."

My head snaps up to see a soft smile and brown eyes burning with intense love. "Maxon!" I jump out of the chair and throw my arms around his neck. He's hard and warm and his arms are suddenly holding me to him as he spins me around. His laughter follows my own before he sets me back on my feet.

I've barely touched the ground before I pull his mouth to mine. We're smiling too much to actually make use of this position, but it's soon becoming my favorite type. "Maxon, oh, Maxon," I mumble between failed kisses.

"America, my America," he mumbles back.

When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead on mine.

"What changed?" I whisper, filled with awe. "What changed your mind?"

He gives me a sideways smile, "My mother."

I laugh at the similar answer, running my hands over his chest and shoulders. "I love your mother," I confess.

He hums in reply but is focused on my lips once more. "Can I visit you tonight?"

"As long as we aren't seen, Your Highness. I think our probation period is almost up and I'd hate to have to restart it."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine, we'll go somewhere else. I've been meaning to show you another one of the private rooms. It hasn't been used for a few generations but I had them shine it up a couple months ago."

"If it's anything like the library, I know I'll love it."

He kisses me in agreement. "Now, was you illness this morning due to an actual headache or were you avoiding me?"

I blush.

"Well, either way," Maxon chuckles. "Silvia announced your next challenge this morning. I think they're looking for an elimination after it, so make sure you don't fail."

"Thanks," I say drily.

"Your welcome."

"Any other good advice?"

"If you need help, all you have to do is ask," Maxon says seriously.

I nod, thankful for his offer and remembering a similar one from the queen. He offers me his arm and escorts me back to my rooms. Once we get to the Selection's quarters, he leans down to place a kiss right below my ear. I shiver.

"I'll see you at dinner. Wear something green."

With that he strides away, leaving me watching his back with a broad smile across my face.

"Green?" I call after him, but all I get is a grin thrown back over his shoulder. I stare at him until he turns the corner and then fly into my room. "Anne!" I yell, ready to relay Maxon's strange request.


	12. The Point of No Return Part 1

**America:**

"Green? You're sure he said green," was Anne's response when I told her what Maxon wanted. Apparently Anne had found a roll of fabric wrapped tightly in brown paper on her desk this morning. The roll was more expensive than anything the Selected were provided with, except for special occasions, and a deep emerald color. With four hours till dinner, Anne said she could work up something simple.

Now I'm standing in my closet wondering how this dress could ever be considered simple. It falls to the floor in thick pleats, not flowing out like most of my dresses, and cuts across my chest in a straight line. It's missing the normal intricacies of my maids' work but has a thin strap at the waist that ties in a small bow. It's elegant and unexpected and hopefully the right green for Maxon.

Just as Lucy is about to start on my hair, Anne leads Silvia in. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Lady America."

"It's alright, Silvia. I'm sorry for missing this morning's lesson, I was feeling a bit under the weather."

"Thank you, Lady America. I came to inform you of the philanthropy project that you will be required to present for next week's Report." Silvia hands me a small packet and I flip through it as she continues, "Choose your topic wisely as it could become your first program if you become Princess. You might recall that Queen Amberly's was the improvement of the public school system."

I look up from the packet, "Thank you, Silvia."

"Your welcome, Lady America. If you don't have any questions, I'll leave you to prepare for dinner," Silvia begins to back out of my closet but I stop her.

"Actually, if I could ask a favor."

"Yes?" she says, her interest peaked.

"I was wondering if you might be able to give me private lessons. I know that as a Five, I am not as equipped to handle some situations as well as the others. Elise is more knowledgeable about foreign relations, Celeste is more apt at manners and etiquette, and Kriss is practically a historian. I understand if it's against the rules, but if you could find time for me, I would appreciate it greatly," I finish my petition without portraying too much of my nerves.

"Private lessons? As in multiple a week?" Silvia clarifies.

"If that's alright."

Silvia smiles broadly and looks like she's on the verge of rocking onto her toes in excitement. "I'm so happy one of you finally realized how important these things are."

"Is that a yes?" I ask.

"Of course. We can start tomorrow morning."

I thank her graciously and Anne shows her out. I turn back to my mirror and bite my lip to keep from grinning. This will be my first step in making myself bulletproof to criticisms. I will do everything I can to make sure there will be nothing to prevent ease in the way of Maxon choosing me.

After Lucy finishes my hair, gentle curls that fall down my back, I slip on the dress and make my way downstairs. When I enter the room, a strange feeling is in the air. I catch the king's smirk falter when he sees my dress but immediately recover with full force. Even more unsettling is the matching look on Celeste's face.

She's in a scarlet dress pulled tight and plunging low in her usual fashion. Her hair is completely up, showing off the vast amount of skin revealed. I take my usual seat across from her and next to Kriss. I glance at the girls and realize that everyone is slightly more dressed up than usual. Elise is the last girl to enter and she's in a dress that has obvious Asian undertones. It's this detail that confirms my hypothesis. A camera is to also attend tonight's dinner. And it seems like everyone was told except me.

I can't shake the feeling that the King is watching me, but every time I look he's staring straight ahead, smirk firmly in place. One of these times I catch the Queen's eye and she smiles warmly at me. I bow my head slightly, thanking her for her unknown interference in Maxon's removal from me.

It happens simultaneously, Maxon's entry and the King's loss of a smirk. It takes me a little longer to get the significance, but as Maxon sits down next to Celeste, he gives me that mischievous grin and glances down at my dress. I know my face must show my confusion because he winks and shakes his head once.

"Maxon," the king greets gruffly and his tone makes a part of me shake in fear.

"Father."

"New tie?" the king questions lowly.

Maxon looks down as if not remembering which one he had on. "Is it? I hadn't realized."

Neither had I, but once they mentioned it I don't think I could unsee it if I tried. It is the exact color of my dress. And from both the King's and Celeste's glares, and Maxon's feigned innocence, it matches the wrong dress. As the King's angry stare turns on me, I can't help but curse Maxon in all three of my fluent languages and my two partials. How could he do this to me?

The first course is served and consumed but the heaviness still does not lift. While the second dish is brought out, Kriss leans over in her ladylike way, her napkin pressed lightly to her lips. "Did you do something to earn the King's wrath?"

We both chance a quick peak from the corner of our eyes. "No, but I suppose I was an unwitting accomplice," I whisper from beneath my own napkin.

We quietly take in the scene again and as I nearly finish my plate, Kriss lifts her cup to her mouth. "Celeste looks redder than her dress."

I can't help the breath of a chuckle that leaves me and I nod my head. Kriss and I share what I assume I suppose is a conspiring look, hidden knowledge and laughter reflecting in our silent communication.

It is during the dessert course that the photographer finally shows his face. He is never announced so I guess we're supposed to act normal. As I watch him take pictures, I know that the significance of the tie will be lost on the country. It's nearly impossible to get Maxon and I in the same photo. But it wouldn't have been unnoticeable if him and Celeste had matched. The part of me that gets jealous over Maxon, is glad his tie isn't red, but the part of me that will be confronting Maxon about the looks I keep getting from his father, will never let another living soul know that.

The photographer leaves and soon I'm eating slowly enough to time my departure with Maxon's. After dragging out my last few bites long enough to raise eyebrows, I give up, excusing myself from the table. The least he could do look apologetic during the death stares I was receiving from his father. It's like he's oblivious to the fact that we need to get on his _good_ side in order to get through this, at the very least we need to stay off his bad. Would it really have been that hard not to anger the king? Maxon of all people should know what happens when you cross his father.

I latch onto the anger that tries to dissipate when my mind goes to Maxon's back, not ready to let go. I stew all the way to my room. 'Wear green,' he had said. I thought it was going to be some romantic notion. Instead he used me to piss his father off.

Anne has barely shut the door behind me when a knock sounds and Maxon barges in.

"Maxon!" I cry, put out by his lack of decorum.

"America, I—"

"What the hell were you thinking!" I shout, planning to get the first word in about tonight. "We are supposed to be finding ways to please your Father, not anger him!"

Maxon hardly bats his eye at my temper. Of course he would be expecting it. He won't even try to deny his scheming.

"I could not stand there and let him manipulate the pictures of my first night back, to show my preference for someone I am far from considering choosing," his defense is quietly given, as if he was a handler speaking to a tiger. "As important as it is to win my father's approval, that will not happen if he believes he can bully me into choosing someone of his liking."

As I struggle to find a response more sophisticated than 'well, I'm still mad,' I catch sight of Anne hurrying Lucy and Mary out of the room. Part of me feels guilty that they had to witness my impertinence, as I'm sure that it still shocks them.

"If you had to think so hard to come up with a perfect excuse, then wouldn't it have crossed your mind than there might be a foundation for my anger?"

"Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable." Maxon throws his hands in the air. "First you were mad because I had no excuse, and now your mad because I have one?"

"It should hardly come as a surprise to you," I say, my anger disappearing as my brain wanders to the adorableness of the frown line across his confused-face and the truth of his absurd accusation. "We've already determined that I don't work well with others."

"What?" Maxon asks, completely lost.

"I believe your conclusions were that I failed to maintain professionalism and didn't possess the proper skills to preform in a work environment."

His frown slowly morphs into a look of realization. In a moment, I'm flush against him, his hand firmly holding my head and his mouth dominating my own. When he pulls back, his expression is one of content exasperation. "Life will never be boring with you, will it America?"

Still suffering the aftermaths of the kiss, I bite my lip and gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes. "No, and I believe I can make that a promise, my prince."

Maxon smiles smugly and then pecks my retrained bottom lip. "Come," he grabs my hands. "Despite what you might have thought, I do actually have a plan for tonight."

"And what is that? Are we off to some secret indoor garden?"

Maxon opens the door for me, but doesn't respond. Fine, I think. Keep your secrets.

"Would you like one?" he says suddenly, as we begin to ascend the staircase.

"One what?"

"A secret indoor garden."

I look at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. Which he then laughs at.

"The queen will be entitled to many rooms of her choosing. Say the word, and I will build you rooms with glass floors."

Not knowing how to respond, I simply grasp Maxon's arm and pull myself into his side as we walk. I press my forehead into the side of his shoulder, hoping to express both my embarrassment and gratitude at such a comment. "I don't need impossibly structured rooms, just being your wife would be enough."

Maxon presses a kiss to my forehead, "Wait until we get to our destination before you start talking about being my wife."

"Why? Are you ashamed of me?" I ask slyly.

He tenses and stutters before the tone of my voice registers. "Not funny, America."

"I thought it was."

"One day, I'm going to find a way to curb your tongue, my lady. And when that comes, I'd start running."

I swing myself in front of him and peer up through fluttering eyelids, "Is that a threat?"

"Oh," he says with playfully tight lips. "You are so lucky we are here."

I laugh as he pulls us to a stop. The golden swirls on the white door remind me of the ballroom downstairs. I hold my breath in anticipation, excited to explore the new room. Maxon looks back at me, and then pushes both French doors open in one smooth movement. All thoughts of our teasing go out the window, and suddenly I'm speechless.

"Maxon!" I gasp.

It's a music room.

Maxon chuckles at my glee. "It belonged to my great grandmother. The instruments are nearly a hundred years old. The room has been all but forgotten, as none of my family have experience playing, and my father thinks it's a waste of time. So it sits here, gathering dust."

I twirl into the room, taking in the different instruments, mostly string but a grand piano basks in the setting sun from four floor-to-ceiling windows, and a variety of flutes line one of the walls.

"Maxon," I say again, for my mind can think of no other words but the name of the man responsible for this sight.

I'm standing by a harp that seems to be made entirely of gold when Maxon's arms envelope me from behind. "Do you play?" He asks, his chin resting of my shoulder, as I gently pluck a few strings.

"No," I say, wistfully. "A harp was no where near our price range."

His large hands splay over my waist, "It's not anymore."

Maxon walks over to the most beautiful violin and, holding it up, he asks me to play for him. "When you played for Kriss, all I could think about was getting you to play for me again. But I didn't know how to ask."

"'Will you play for me?' Wasn't the obvious choice?" I tease.

"I just asked that, didn't I?" he replies indignantly, but he is already practically bouncing on his heels in anticipation, like a child in a sweet store.

I merely smirk and pick up the instument. I bring the intricate bow across the strings and am shocked to find it nearly perfectly in tune. Usually, tuning string instruments after a long break takes longer than the few seconds this needs. It sounds as if it was played yesterday. I raise an eyebrow at Maxon but only get a puzzled look in return.

"What?" Maxon asks.

For someone so well versed in the world, he knows little of music, most likely due to the fact that his father would have seen learning an instrument beneath a them, four castes beneath them to be exact. I shake my head, dismissing his question, chalking the tuned instruments up to Maxon's order to prepare the room.

Taking a deep breath, I play the opening notes to "Awake" by Dario Marianelli, a twenty-first century composer. The piece had always been a favorite of mine; I admired the rise and fall of the music until it reached its final crescendo, arguably the best part of the song. I'm hit with the differences of this violin to any other I had played before. Obviously I knew more expensive violins were better, but the way the age seems to wrap each note in warmth and deepen each stroke of my bow with a roundness I had never achieved before sucks me into the music itself. My eyes close by themselves and I allow myself to get lost in the feel of it all.

The song comes to an end and I can't help the laughter that escapes me, nor the wide smile spread across my face. After the reverie of the music dissipates, I catch sight of Maxon. Wonder for sure, but the look in his eyes is not awe, but a look I had come to recognize as the intensity usually seen the few times I have found myself beneath him.

"Another," Maxon says, or perhaps the proper expression is between a growl and a plea.

Without my permission, my breathing speeds up and my stomach twirls with the heat I associate with the anticipation Maxon's touch, or the continuation of his touch. I take a shuddering breath before complying with his request.

I choose a song that my mother had never approved of me learning, a song that "no self-respecting woman had any reason to know." As the melody to "Point of No Return" starts to emerge, I smirk to myself at the words that usually would accompany this moment.

The song originating from _Don Juan_ a fictional opera written by the Phantom, a character in the nineteenth-century Broadway, _The Phantom of the Opera_. The song features two characters in the throes of passion, leaving behind the virtue of the woman and signaling man's fall to temptation. Albeit while the song is preformed, the true love of the woman stands off stage watching her fall into the arms of the villain and hoping they will be able to capture him and end his tormenting plots. Although Maxon is no fiend looking to keep me in the dark tunnels beneath Paris, the first meaning quite accurately describes where this night might be headed.

Shocking both him and me, I sing Christine's first verse, and I watch as Maxon's eyes go wide at the heavily suggestive words.

 _I have come here_

 _Hardly knowing the reason why_

 _In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent_

 _And now I am here with you, no second thoughts_

 _I've decided . . ._

I can barely get thru the song as my body wars between the embarrassed blush and the seductive tone. Part of me hates myself for even attempting this stunt, something that will hopefully get me back into the arms that I had begun to need in a way I had never needed anything before. But another part of me is relishing in the way he is unconsciously leaning towards me, and how the earlier clandestine glances at my chest have become long daring stares, and soaking in the knowledge that by the end of my song, I will have him under my siren's spell.

 _Past the point of no return_

 _No going back now  
Our passion play has now at last begun  
Past all thought of right or wrong  
One final question_

 _How long should we two wait before we're one?_

I have barely finished the last notes before Maxon is taking the violin from my hands and resting it on a small table. I used to think the strongest part of me was founded in my love for music, but not even that side holds a candle to the love and passion that is now burning for this man. So when he grabs my hand and leads me away, I don't even spare a thought for the instrument that has been left out of its case, something that has driven me to shouting at May many times before, and allow him to guide me out of the room and down the hall.

Caught up in the feelings that are now becoming familiar-but have up to this point been so painfully unexplored-I only come to truly realize we have moved when we stand in his room minutes later. The hunger that demands Maxon and only Maxon rears its head and I'm sure I couldn't fight it even if I wanted to. And I don't; so I feed it.


End file.
